A Major Development
by America's Got Fandom
Summary: Margaret's pregnant! The father? Well, remember Scully? A whole slew of problems is going to follow that situation. How does Hawkeye feel about this? And who will be there for Margaret when it really counts? HM. Changed rating to be safe because I'm paranoid.
1. Revealing

**A/N: Hey! Thanks for clicking! I thought of this idea a long time ago, hope you like it! Reviews are super appreciated, if anyone likes it I'll continue it! Thanks!**

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"Margaret? It's me. Can I come in?"

"No."

Hawkeye knocked on the door harder this time. It wasn't normal for Margaret to not eat the whole day, snap at people _even more,_ and almost break down in tears when BJ was reading from his letter from Peg. He was worried about her, and he wasn't just going to let her cry in her tent by herself. Besides, Potter told him he had to talk to her. He tried again. "Come on, everyone else it in the Mess Tent or Post-op, no one will see me come in. I just want to talk!"

Margaret sighed as silently as she could. He obviously wasn't backing down. If she could wipe away the splotches of wet makeup on her face and get her eyes to not look so red, she could simply explain that she was fine and get him to leave. Perfect.

After getting herself as presentable as possible, she opened the door with a firm hand. "What do you want, Captain?" She forced the Major tone as hard as she could.

Hawkeye was much smarter than that. It takes a lot to go from sobbing to an expressionless Major in five seconds, and Margaret hadn't done it. "I want to talk to you."

She rolled her eyes, but let him in anyway. "Fine, but I don't think there's anything for us to talk about. I have a lot to do."

Hawkeye took a good look around her tent. It looked normal, nothing out of place…and there was a _what_ underneath her bed?

He had to keep his eyes from bulging and popping out of their sockets. "Hey, uh, Major, can I ask you something?"

Margaret went to her dresser and ran a brush through her hair, more as a distraction than anything. "Make it quick."

"Why do you have a pregnancy book under your bed?"

 _I'm going to kill him._

Margaret turned around to find Hawkeye picking up the book, opening it, and finding all the highlighted spots and notes. She made no move to stop him. For once, she knew that she couldn't hide this by yelling or shoving him away. It was too late. As immature as he could be, she knew he wasn't stupid. He knew.

"Margaret, are you pregnant?" he turned dot her with a questioning, unsure smile.

She nodded but didn't get a chance to explain, he had grabbed her in a quick hug. "That's great, Margaret! Why haven't you told anyone?"

"Pierce, Scully is the father." That tiny, teensy, bitsy detail made all the difference. It decided that this would be difficult. That she would have a horrible future. That nothing would be easy about this.

Hawkeye's hands stayed around her waist, and Margaret wanted them to stay there. He sighed in understanding. "That's the not good news. Do you know for sure?"

She nodded. "I got the test done I Tokyo last week on R&R. If you tell anyone–"

"Margaret, Margaret." He quitted her in a calm, warm voice that made her shoulders drop. "I'm not going to tell anyone, alright? How are you doing with this?"

 _How am I doing?_ That was the stupidest question. She was pregnant! And the father, a scruffy irresponsible soldier, was who knows where! "Of course I'm not ok!" she yanked herself away from his embrace with a glare hardened in his direction. "Scully and I have only been together for a matter of months, I'm in the middle of a war, my father is going to kill me, and I don't have the first clue about where I'll live in the states!"

Hawkeye just stared at her. He wasn't shocked, disgusted, or afraid of her. Why wasn't he backing out? Why wasn't he yelling at her? "Get out, I don't want to talk to you," she ordered. She needed him gone.

"I'm the only one who knows?" He asked, ignoring her command. "Does he know?"

She watched him, debating whether or not to throw him out of her tent. "No." She decided that as long as he was civil, didn't push for information, didn't make jokes, and didn't annoy her, he could stay. "I haven't told him. And I'm not going to."

Hawkeye shook his head. He felt for her, he really did, but he also knew Scully was still a human being. "He's the father, he deserves to know about his own child."

"He won't want to raise the child." Margaret's eyes started to fill with tears and she choked on her words. Her breath was shallow and she hands shook. She wanted to break down. She wanted to go to sleep and wake up when her life was ok again. "He's not that type."

Hawkeye watched carefully as she continued to shake and tears collected in her eyes. "I'm going to be fine. I'll find somewhere to live in the States, and I'll get a job. I'll…I'll be fine."

It was her last sentence before she broke down in his arms.

"Shh, Margaret, it'll be ok, I promise." He rubbed her back in long, warm strokes as she cried into his shoulder. He hated seeing her cry. He'd seen her cry, sure, but he always felt sick about it afterwards.

She took a few breathes in as he led her onto her cot (she secretly thought he was very brave to be doing such a thing) and sat down with her. She leaned onto his shoulder for a good few minutes until her breath was even and she could talk again. It was calm. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Don't mention it." He opened his hand out to her, waiting for her to put her hand in his. She briefly froze, but after considering that he was the only one she could go to at the moment, she let her palm fall against his. The warmth of his fingers intertwining with hers made her sigh. "Feel a little better?"

She nodded weakly. Crying and screaming had sapped her energy at the late hour, and she couldn't contain the yawn that escaped her lips.

Hawkeye grinned to himself. She took on a new light in this position, nearly sleeping on his shoulder. "Come on, Margaret. Time for bed." He had to bite his tongue back to stop himself form making a joke. She didn't need that right now.

"Thank you," she mumbled out. Her face fell into annoyance as she remembered why she was dreading tonight so much. She started to get up reluctantly. "Never mind, I have post-op duty."

Hawkeye shook his head as he knelt in front of her. "You need your sleep, now for two. I'll take over your post-op duty and see what I can do to find Scully. I'll come check on you in the morning, alright?"

Her first instinct was to protest, but the look in his eyes told her he wasn't budging. And she decided that finding Scully wouldn't be so bad, she could at least find out how he felt about children in general. "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it. Just get some sleep, ok?" she nodded, and he grinned. "That's my Major. Good night, Margaret." He pressed a soft kiss on her forehead before making a hasty retreat. He missed the small smile and light blush that rested on the Major's face.

As he walked to post-op, he debated whether or not he was crazy. What made him jump into protection mode and volunteer to take care of her like that? He didn't regret it, but he would at least like his head to give him a reason why he did it.

With one last look towards the Major's tent, he headed into post-op.


	2. Phone Calls

Hawkeye woke up the next morning without his usual want for more sleep, not that he had time to think about it. As soon as he found BJ and Charles sound asleep in their respective bunks, he got dressed and went to Margaret's tent. The camp was just starting to grow active. No causalities were expected today, and Hawkeye planned to take full advantage of that. "Margaret?"

No response.

After knocking a few more times and fighting to keep his heart rate down, he opened the door. Nothing. She wasn't there.

 _Shut up and stop panicking._

He decided to listen to his gut for once and check the Mess Tent. If she wasn't there, he'd check post-op. IF not there, he'd ask Radar if he'd seen her.

Thankfully, he found her sitting alone in with breakfast, looking pretty miserable. He walked straight over to her, and she attempted to look as close to normal as possible. "Morning, Margaret. How are you feeling?"

She shot him a glare between glances around the Mess Tent. "Captain, I'm feeling fine. Don't you have someone else to bother?"

What? "Uh, Margaret," he laughed a little and turned to face her better. "I know I have some pretty weird dreams, and you're in a lot of them by the way, but…" he left it to her to fill in the rest.

She rolled her eyes. Couldn't he just let her be? "Yes, Captain, I'm still you-know-what. I don't need to be taken care of like a porcelain doll, however."

Hormones. Must be hormones. Hawkeye knew of no other reason. How was he supposed to help her if she was biting his head off like this? He decided to just agree with whatever she said. "You're right. I'll act like nothing is different." After a brief pause, he gave her his usual grin. "Are you busy tonight?"

She fought to not smile. Oh, how she fought. She used every muscle, inside and out, not to smile. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that she was kind of flattered, a bit happy, and total relieved that he was by her side. But none of it mattered, because a small grin came out anyway.

After a few seconds passed by, Margaret changed the subject. "Did you find Scully?"

Hawkeye shook his head. "Klinger's on the case, but it might take some time. Have you decided to tell him?"

With a reluctant sigh, she nodded. "Yes. We'll talk and go from there. And…thank you, Pierce. I don't usually break down like that, but it was nice to have you there yesterday." She locked eyes with him, then reached over and covered his hand with hers. "Thank you."

He gently squeezed her hand in return, ignoring the warmth and butterflies that exploded at feeling her fingers intertwine with his. "No problem. You're a pretty nice crier, so I'm glad I was there." He winked with his compliment, and her blush was paired with rolling eyes. "Have you had any symptoms yet?"

"Occasional morning sickness, but not much else."

Before Hawkeye could interview her any further, Klinger ran into the Mess Tent up to them. Their hands separated and went under the table, but Klinger didn't even notice. "Captain, Scully's on the line."

Hawkeye turned to Margaret, whose eyes had shot open with panic. "That's your cue."

The sharp butterflies immediately started flapping in Margaret's stomach. Should she tell him now? If he was in combat, no. if he was somewhere safe, maybe. "I'll go. I'll be there in a minute, Klinger."

Klinger took the hint and went off. Margaret turned to Hawkeye with worry dripping off her and plainly visible. She needed as much support as he could give. "What do I say to him?"

"You'll do fine. You don't have to tell him now, just explain you need to see him." Seeing that her nerves refused to budge, he looked her in the eye and offered, "Do you want me to come with you?"

She met his gaze but shook her head. "No, I'll be fine." She was still her independent self, after all, she would be fine. She stood up, grabbed her tray and went off towards the phone, leaving Hawkeye to worry for her alone.

What would Scully say? Hawkeye knew that Scully was a good, decent guy, but he wasn't exactly dream father material. He wasn't dream husband material either, especially for Margaret. Hawkeye didn't know how reliable of a husband Scully would even be, and he wanted to know Margaret would be in a stable and happy home.

Margaret wasn't back after Hawkeye finished with breakfast, and wasn't even done after he showered. After debating back and forth, a martini, more debating and three almost-walks to the phone, he finally got his feet to get him through the door.

When he walked in, Margaret was just sitting in the chair, tear-stained and mascara overly-smudged. "Margaret, are you ok?" He immediately went to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She wasn't crying at the moment, but anyone could tell that when she had been, she was sobbing.

She took in a deep breath and tried to get a hold of her voice before it cracked. "I talked to Scully. He could tell I was upset and wanted to know why, so I told him. I told him about the baby. He was…upset. We fought, and I yelled at him." She had to pause and take another deep breath. She wasn't going to break down, not again. "While we were fighting…the phone went dead. The last thing I heard was a shell exploding."

Hawkeye sighed. How was it that war could be this cruel? He gently massaged the back of Margaret's neck in slow, small circles to keep her calm. "I'm sorry, Margaret. Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm ok. Thank you, Hawkeye." She leaned forward and gave him a tight hug. She didn't feel perfect, by a long shot, but she felt a lot better. "You're really something, you know that?"

He stood up and offered her his hand, which she accepted as she got up. "I've been told that as compliments and insults, you're going to have to be a bit more specific."

After getting a smile from the Major, he led her outside into the autumn air. It didn't yet require a coat, but was just enough for Margaret to brush up against Hawkeye several times for warmth without consequence. "Now, may I take my favorite officer to lunch?"

She smirked and looked up at him. Were his eyes always such a unique, icy blue? "Only if you keep your hands to yourself."

"I make no promises."

#

Margaret collapsed onto her cot like it was an impenetrable waterbed. She'd just taken a 'trip' to the latrine, and was already sick of all the symptoms of being pregnant. Why couldn't you have nice symptoms when you were pregnant? Like natural blush, soft skin, and _not_ throwing up?

After a few minutes of contemplating all the scenarios that would happen today that would probably make her mad, she pushed herself out of bed and got ready. They were supposed to get wounded later and she hadn't eaten yet, so she went off to the Mess Tent.

A small smile found its way on her face as she thought of seeing the chief surgeon for breakfast. Hawkeye had been by her side almost constantly for the past few days, and she had to admit that she liked it. Sure, the nurses were a bit jealous and suspicious, but why should she care? She was pregnant, she needed the support.

She walked in, but the man in question was nowhere to be found. BJ, Potter, and Charles were all sitting together though, and she was sure one of them would know where he was. "Have you seen Pierce?" She realized after the words slipped out of her mouth that she sounded a bit too eager, so she added, "I need to talk to him about post-op."

"Pierce isn't here," Potter said. "I had to send him to an aid station late last night, they needed a surgeon right away and it was his turn."

Hormones. She wanted to cry. And yell. Why hadn't he said goodbye to her? Sure, she wasn't exactly pleasant when people woke her up in the middle of the night, but she would've at least liked to know about it! "Oh, when is he coming back?"

"As soon as they get a new replacement surgeon, which will probably be sometime tonight." Potter turned to BJ and started asking him about some prank he and Hawk had pulled. Margaret sat silently, nodding and smiling through the rest of breakfast. First Scully, and now this? She was already torn up over not hearing from Scully, and just when she was convinced things were probably fine, Hawkeye goes to the front! The war could really louse up a person's day.

As soon as she finished breakfast, she excused herself and went to post-op. "Klinger?" She called over to the Corporal, who immediately turned to face her. "Can you please put a call through to the aid station? I need to speak with Captain Pierce."

Klinger looked too apprehensive for Margaret's taste. "I don't know, Major. I'll try, but it might not get through, I hear they're pretty busy up there."

"Just get it through, alright?" She turned to leave, but Klinger tapped her shoulder lightly.

"Uh, Major? Come here." he beckoned her to follow him the phone, and she followed. He turned to her as he started making the call. "I'm worried about him too. But Captain Pierce is a strong guy, and I'm sure he'll be alright."

Margaret hated, _hated_ to admit it, but she felt a little better at Klinger's words. "Thank you, Klinger. Come get me when that call is through, alright?"

Klinger nodded. "Sure thing, Major."

#

It was only ten minutes later when the call came through, and Margaret was there in the blink of an eye, especially when Klinger told her that Hawkeye couldn't stay on long.

"Pierce?" She sat down and started yelling through the phone with all different emotions blaring at him. "Are you alright? Why didn't you tell me you were leaving? I would kill you if I didn't need you!"

Hawkeye winced at her tone. "Margaret, I had to leave so fast I was supposed to be gone ten minutes before he told me. I would've said goodbye but you insisted on doing post-op and were exhausted. I'll be back tonight." A shell hit, loud enough that Margaret jumped. "In theory."

Margaret sighed and leaned on the desk. "How is it over there?"

Hawkeye laughed. "It's great, we're having tea then playing a game of golf. How are you feeling?"

 _Listen to him. He's at the front with shells exploding around him, and he's wondering how I'm doing!_ "I'm fine, but you be careful. I need you back here in one piece."

"Me too. Listen, I have to go. Take care of yourself, ok? I'll be back tonight."

Margaret wiped away a tear with her sleeve. One good thing about pregnancy was that she could blame any and all emotions on said pregnancy, whether it was the true cause or not. "Take your own advice, Pierce. See you soon."

"You too. And Margaret? Save me a kiss." He hung up, leaving her with a smile on her face and blushing cheeks. She could just imagine him running over to save someone's life. He was brave like that. He would help others no matter what it meant for himself.

But would he be back to help her?


	3. Trust Falls

_"I'm home," Margaret mumbled as she walked through the door. Peace was far from her grasp, as soon as she walked in the door her baby started wailing. "Scully, can you please help her?"_

 _Scully walked out of the kitchen with his hand stuck in a family-sized chip bag. "What?"_

 _Margaret shot him a glare. "Jack, our child is upstairs crying, and you're eating chips!"_

 _"Ok, ok!" Scully dropped the bag onto the couch and wiped his hands on his pants. "I'll go take care of the kid, then we can have some fun, alright?" He smiled before running upstairs to quiet their newborn._

 _Margaret plopped down on the couch, and every muscle in her body relaxed. She never wanted to move again._

 _However, the phone had different plans. Margaret had to scramble to grab it so it wouldn't disturb the hopefully soon-to-be sleeping child upstairs. "Hello?" She knew she sounded irritated, but she also couldn't care less._

 _"Margaret, it's Hawkeye."_

 _That was all she needed to hear. "Pierce? I haven't talked to you in ages! How have you been?"_

 _"Pretty good. Listen, I can't talk long, but I wanted to tell you the good news. I'm getting married!"_

 _What?_

 _Margaret's heart stopped beating. The breath was sucked from her chest. "You're…you're getting married?"_

 _"Yup. Can you come to the wedding?"_

 _Before Margaret could answer, Scully came downstairs with greasy hands and an obnoxiously happy grin on his face. "Hey, sweetheart. Ready to have some fun?"_

 _The baby started wailing, screaming._

 _"No, no, everyone get away from me!" Margaret wanted it all to go away, she wanted to all to leave!_

"Margaret, we've got wounded!" BJ yelled through her door as he knocked urgently though the door.

Margaret shot up in her cot. "No, we're ok. BJ?!" She burst up and yanked the door open, finding the surgeon looking at her with concerned eyes. "We have wounded?"

BJ nodded. "Yeah, and without Hawk it's gonna be hard." He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you ok?"

She nodded, giving him a small smile. "Yes, just a bad dream." As they ran for triage, Margaret had to amend it. _A very, very bad dream._

#

Triage was absolute chaos, everywhere and anywhere. And if you thought that being down one surgeon wouldn't put that much of a dent in speed, you'd be wrong.

"Margaret, get over here!" BJ shouted. Margaret would not want to see this, but she had to. How did this happen?

Margaret ran from one patient to BJ's, but her footsteps stopped when she saw who BJ was bending over.

Scully.

"What-what happened?" Margaret's words came out more as a breath than speech. She ran over to BJ and knelt by the father of her child, who lay unconscious before her.

"Corpsman!" BJ yelled. This wasn't looking good, and BJ knew that. Still, he would try. "Margaret, get into pre-op, we need to operate _now._ "

The way he said 'now' meant 'thirty minutes ago', and Margaret understood that. She nodded, and with one last look at bleeding Scully, ran off to scrub.

Fifteen minutes later, hope was nowhere to be found. "Clamp, clamp!" BJ shouted. Able handed it to him. Potter refused to let Margaret operate on Scully after seeing the way her hands shook and rattled. She protested, but secretly was glad he wouldn't let her.

BJ looked to Kellye. "Pressure?"

Kellye's eyes displayed panic. "50/35, heart rate is dropping fast, we're losing him."

"Come on, come on!" BJ tried everything. He tried more than everything. "Suction."

"Suction."

Margaret looked from her table with Potter. Nothing looked good.

BJ stopped moving. He looked to Kellye again. "Kellye?"

Kellye let go of the breath in her chest. "He's gone. We've lost him."

Margaret turned and left the room.

#

He was gone.

The father of her child was dead.

As for her, sure, Margaret cared for him a lot. She had some very deep, loving feelings for him. Was he her ideal man? No. But he was the father, and now he was gone. He would never hold his child, he would never attend their wedding, it was over before it even started. The stupid, terrible, inhumane war had taken a man's life!

And the last thing they did was fight. They never got to talk over everything. It was over.

Margaret had gone to bed without dinner that night. She couldn't eat. BJ had told her he was sorry multiple times, but she knew it wasn't his fault and told him so. As she replayed the surgery in her mind, from what she saw, he had done everything he could. She knew BJ was a good doctor.

And to make matters worse, Hawkeye wasn't back yet. He was supposed to be back that night, now it was one in the morning, and he wasn't there. He promised not to leave her! What if he never came back? She wouldn't be able to handle it. She might as well check herself in with Sidney if that happened.

"Margaret?" Like a miracle amidst horror, Hawkeye was knocking at her door. She was up so fast she almost tripped over her own foot.

His arms had never felt so comforting.

"Sh, I heard, Margaret. I'm so sorry, I wish I'd been here." He shut the door and held her against his chest, letting her sob freely. He wanted her to stop crying. Why did the war have to do this? She didn't deserve this! She deserved a happy, wonderful, easy life. The war couldn't just leave her alone?

"He's gone, Hawkeye. He's gone. The baby…I can't…"

"Margaret, you've got to breathe, please. Deep breath in and out, alright?"

She tried to breathe as he instructed, and found herself actually doing so. He was like a vent, she could breathe only when she was in his arms. She needed to hold him – needed him like she needed air.

Only after several minutes had gone by could she talk without her voice cracking. "Thank you, Hawkeye. I'm ok now." She was confident that she wouldn't cry again. They were now sitting together on her cot, but she was still very much entwined in his arms.

He looked at her, giving her shoulders a small squeeze. "Are you sure?"

She nodded in a way that she hoped was convincing, or at least enough so that he would believe her. "Yes, you should go back. You were just at the front, you need sleep." She bit back the want for him to stay – for him to keep his arms around her, to hold her close against his chest, to whisper comforting words in her ears. "I'll be ok."

Hawkeye took her hand in his, smiling slightly at the feel of her fingers wrapping immediately around his hand. "I don't want to leave you alone when all this just happened. Are you even going to be able to get to sleep?"

She rolled her eyes, but it was a lie of an action. "Of course, I'm a Major, remember? If I can sleep at the front with shells going off around me, I can sleep in a cot on a calm night." Only after the words left her mouth did she realize that she'd slept next to him that fateful night at the front.

"Margaret, we all need a shoulder sometimes. I've gone on less sleep than this, a round of Mess Tent coffee and a cold shower will wake me up faster than you can put a corporal on report." He knew that he really could use some sleep, but what could he do about it? He wasn't going to leave her on a night like this.

"Captain," Margaret began, shifting out of his embrace slightly. "We both need sleep, that's agreed upon. I will be fine sleeping in here, you can go back to the Swamp!"

"I don't want to leave you alone!"

"Fine, so sleep here!"

"Fine!"

Silence clutched the room and laughed at the companions.

"Are you sure?" Hawkeye spoke first. He had the idea on his mind since they'd begun debating, but wasn't about to bring it up. But now that she had suggested it…it's not like they weren't friends. Good friends. Best friends.

Margaret paused to give herself a moment. She and Hawkeye were really close, and it wasn't like they were going to do anything. It would be perfectly innocent. "Yes," she stated with confidence radiating off of her face. "It's best, we both honestly need sleep, and we'll both get a good night's sleep if we're next to each other."

Seeing that she was all in favor for the idea, Hawkeye gave her his best cunning grin. "Margaret, you have no idea how long I've waited to hear those words."

On instant, after her laughter had found a place in the open air, she reached forward and hugged him. Tightly. Her arms around his neck she whispered, "Thank you, Hawkeye."

Her breath in his ears did something to him he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Admiration? No. Want? Not quite, but close. Love? Impossible. Affection? The closest thing he could think of.

He held her gently in his arms and pressed a warm kiss on her cheek. "No problem. I'll be back after changing into something less presentable."

After she bid him a temporary farewell, he left her to contemplate what _exactly_ she was doing, and how far she would regret it in the morning.

Nothing was going to 'happen', she knew Hawkeye was more than decent enough to not take advantage of her, but sleeping next to someone had a way of pushing the relationship forward – whether it was ready or not. It happened the first time at the aid station, then the hut. Where would they go from here? Where does a relationship go after best friends?

No. It wasn't going to be _that._ They'd decided, together and separate, that 'they' would not work. They were not meant for each other. They. Were. Just. Not.

But could they?

Before Margaret could answer that question, a knock came at her door. "Come in, Pierce." She laughed. She knew that if he hadn't knocked she would've told him he should've, but she found it…amusing that he'd chosen to.

He walked in in his usual bedtime wear, as she expected. "Oh, and Hawkeye, if this little sleepover leaves this tent I'll break your nose."

Hawkeye put his right hand over his chest and gave her a humorous grin. "I will be nothing but a gentleman."

She smirked and moved over to one side, allowing him the side of the wall. He climbed in with her, and she had to wonder: What in Sam Hill (to quote Colonel Potter) was she doing? Margaret of the beginning of the war never would've done something – never mind, it was that same Margaret who had let this same man sleep next to her when she was afraid. Why did she keep forgetting that?

"Comfy?" he asked. She couldn't tell whether she meant it as a real question or a joke, but she smirked in response either way. "I want you to know this is the best sleepover I've ever had."

They laid down together, both tensing at the immediate closeness. "Good to know." She forced her muscles to relax, and when she did, she found she kind of…liked it. She liked being next to someone she trusted. "Good night, Pierce."

"Night, Margaret." His arms found their way around her waist, hugging her into his chest. She made no move to stop him, instead snuggling deeper into his embrace. The evening was like their relationship: First thrusted together by sadness and desperation for a shoulder, then a flying leap of trust, and now, what was it? It was comfortable. Warm. Trusting.

"Hawkeye?"

"Hm?"

"Move your feet. They're freezing."


	4. Totally, utterly, and only friends

"Hawkeye, I'll be _fine."_ She forced the last word so hard that it sounded almost like she was mad at him. If anything, she was far from it. She was touched at the way he was worrying about her, especially how he kept pacing back and forth over her leaving. "It's a weekend. One weekend. I think I'll survive without the infamous Captain Pierce."

He smiled in a way only he could. "I wouldn't try it, only few have survived."

She was about to roll her eyes, but stopped at the warmth of his hand on her shoulder. "Are you _sure_ you don't want me to ask Potter if I can go?"

This was the fifteenth time he'd asked.

Today.

She was only going to be gone for one weekend to see her father in Tokyo. After a few nights of leaning on Hawkeye's shoulder, she'd decided to deal with the consequences of her pregnancy like the woman she was. She got everything out and spent a whole night talking to Hawkeye, pouring everything out about Scully and how terrible she felt that the last thing they had done was fight. And afterwards, she felt better. She wasn't completely healed, but she felt much better.

Her first step was seeing her father. It was a chance for her to explain the whole situation in person, which would either help or hurt her chances of getting a semi-good reaction. Hawkeye, however, was not taking her R&R plans so well. "What do I have to do to convince you that I can go away for a weekend without my personal doctor?" It was true, Hawkeye had given her a physical last week.

Hawkeye loaded her bag onto the jeep, glancing around the compound before leaning so close to her any movement forward would sent her lips into his. "I have a few ideas…"

She hit him on the shoulder. "Don't you ever quit?"

His eyes took on a sincere, sweet look that nearly sent Margaret's composure running for cover. "I'm serious, alright? None of us exactly know Tokyo like the Officer's Club, and I'm worried about you. You haven't been yourself the past week, and as your doctor I have–"

With a roll of her eyes, heart thumping in her throat and a possibly too-brave mindset, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Merely to get him to stop talking. Really, only to stop him. Really. Promise.

It was much fuller, deeper, and longer than she planned, but after a few extra moments she managed to pull herself back. Opening her eyes to find him looking quite star-struck, her breathe found this the perfect opportunity to leave. "I…well, I should be going."

Hawkeye was struck silent. Margaret…kissed him? Margaret kissed him. Why? Not that he was complaining, but they hadn't kissed in while, since the hut incident. "Uh, yeah. Will you call me when you get there?"

She hopped into the jeep and nodded. _He's so worried about me…it's sweet, really._ "Yes, as soon as I get to the hotel, and I won't talk to any strangers," she said in a mocking tone.

"Very funny. I'll see you when you get back, alright?" He leaned over the door and gave her two quick kisses on her cheek. "Two, one for mom and one for junior."

 _I'm going to fall in love with him if he keeps saying things like that…_

 _Wait, WHAT?_

No. She was not going to fall in love with him. That was absurd. They'd decided that wasn't going to happen. No. No. "Uh, yeah," she stuttered out. Her driver revved up the engine, and she used the opportunity to turn away from Hawkeye. "You know where to go?"

The driver nodded without care or knowledge for Margaret's revelation/nightmare and put his boot the rusty pedal. The tires gripped the Korean dirt and took Margaret away, and left Hawkeye in a cloud of dust without a goodbye.

#

 _This_ time, Margaret's bed felt like a waterbed.

It was a mattress. A real, genuine, feather-filled mattress. It wasn't a burlap sack stretched on two metal bars. It was a _bed._

Just as she was comfy in with several plush blankets wrapped around her from her shoulders to her toes, her mental reminder that she was supposed to call Hawkeye hit her like a train.

She was out of the bed like a shot.

And…then she sat back down.

The whole plane ride she had gone back and forth on her new and strange dilemma. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt that she cared very deeply for the chief surgeon. But did she _love_ him?

 _I shouldn't._ She ordered herself not stop having such frivolous and ridiculous thoughts like she was a corporal who was head-over-heels in love with a Colonel. Everything, and she meant _everything_ , said she shouldn't be in love with him. He wasn't her type. Oh, and she was PREGNANT.

Just thinking about the pregnancy sent a ripple of emotion (and a headache) passing over her. _Let's face it._ She stood up and began to pace, her steps growing angrier, harder, and more desperate for a solution. _Even if I do love him, he won't love me. I'm pregnant with another man's child, for goodness sakes! We have no future. I'm basically stuck being single forever until some sap decides to pull me out of my gutter-apartment and marry me._ Was this the end? Was this really how it was going to be?

She decided to get her mind off it. That was the only logical choice, if she ignored it, she could pretend the issue wasn't even there. She put a gentle hand over her stomach and smiled. "What do you say to getting a little unpacking done, huh?" She smiled to herself. Talking to her unborn child was…nice. A little friend she hadn't even met yet.

She went over to her bag and unzipped it, revealing various clothes, feminine products, miscellaneous items that she would probably not need.

There was one item she found that she definitely did _not_ pack. With a curious and almost excited smile she pulled out a once-folded, loose-leaf paper.

 _Dear Margaret,_

 _Yes, it's Hawkeye. I slipped this into your bag sometime between when I asked you to inventory supplies with me and when you left. I don't know how to say these types of things in person, so I guess this is the next best option._

 _I know you're scared. You haven't cried in front of me in days, since the night Scully passed. Margaret, you may not know this, but I care about you. A lot. No matter what you're feeling, I'm going to be here for you. Now, and when you leave._

 _As long as you'll have me,_

 _Hawkeye Pierce._

She didn't realize until after reading it how good it felt to have someone care about her like that.

#

"Why hasn't she called?" Hawkeye exploded with a wild kick to the middle post of the Swamp.

BJ and Charles merely smirked at each other before throwing a mildly amused glance at Hawkeye. "What if she didn't make it there?" Hawkeye's face fell like a five hundred-pound weight. His frustration melted away into fear and panic as he collapsed onto his cot. "What if her plane never took off? What if she's lost? What if she never even got to the airport, and she has no way of getting help?"

BJ watched with a concoction of amusement and concern. His best friend's hands shook as the poured a martini, barely noticing that it had nearly nothing in the glass. "Hawk, are you listening to yourself?"

His head shot up at his friend. "Why, do I need a hearing test?"

"I'm afraid so," Charles quipped. He sipped his wine and looked to Pierce with a philosophical edge that made Hawkeye somewhat nervous. "Pierce, I don't believe I've never seen you quite this worried. Are your feelings for the Major perhaps deeper than you know?"

Hawkeye laughed. He had to, or else he would let on that he possibly-maybe-sort-of-kinda liked Margaret as more than a friend. Maybe even more than more-than-a-friend. "Are you _crazy?_ " Hawkeye forced. "Margaret and I are friends. We have nothing in common. She's one of my best friends, I could never feel anything for her beyond friendship. Never. Not in a million wars. No."

"Well, as long as you're sure," BJ said with a smile. "Hawk, there's no shame with being in love."

"In love? Beej, I am not...what are you doing?" Hawkeye could only watch as BJ stood up, walked over to him, picked up a folded picture from the side of his cot, and dropped it into his hands. "BJ, what's your point? It's a picture!"

BJ pointed, looking a bit too much like Sidney for Hawkeye's taste. "Look, Hawkeye. Look at the picture."

BJ was kidding, wasn't he? What could a picture prove? Hawkeye unfolded the square paper and looked at it. And…nothing. What was BJ's point? "I don't get it. It's a picture of me and Margaret. What's this supposed to prove?"

The picture wasn't anything special in most people's eyes. It was a snapshot of Margaret leaning against the doorframe of the O-Club on some late Tuesday night, Hawkeye next to her. She had on a soft smile, looking up at the chief surgeon in amusement as he gave her a half-smile, leaning close enough to almost kiss her. Hawkeye couldn't even remember who took the picture.

Charles decided to take the ball, since his bunkmate was obviously still clueless. "Pierce, for the past week you have kept that picture in your jacket. Which, by the way, you have worn to accompany Margaret to the Mess Tent, the Officer's Club, Rosie's, and her tent. You have looked at that picture every night before you go to sleep, and every time you got back from seeing Margaret you looked at it." He paused, letting his revelation sink in. " _That,_ Pierce, is what BJ is trying to prove."

Hawkeye stared right back at his best friends. With a sigh, he tucked the picture into his jacket. "I'm in love with Margaret."


	5. Proposals and Explanations

"Hawk? Earth to Hawkeye." BJ waved a hand in front of his friend's face, and only after a moment did it wake him back up. "You ok?"

Hawkeye nodded. "Yeah, yeah, fine." He proved this by poking at his food, sniffing it, and ignoring it. "You?"

Potter glanced at BJ, who looked at Charles, who sent it Father Mulcahy's way. "Pierce, does this have something to do with Margaret not being back yet?" Potter asked in the most gentle, non-invasive voice he had.

Margaret was scheduled to get back…let's see…Friday, Saturday, Sunday…today. As in this-morning-today. It was now…five, six, seven in the _evening._ To a normal person, she was late. To Hawkeye, she could be dead in the middle of the ocean and no one knew.

Hawkeye shook his head, eyes wide but noncommittal. "No, I'm fine. Was she supposed to be back today?"

A snort came from Charles' end of the table. "You would know, you've checked for her jeep every five minutes."

Charles's words caught Hawkeye doing just that; his head was turned away from the group and instead looking at the barren compound. It left an empty space inside him every time he checked, why did he keep doing it?

"Huh?" He was completely lost in the conversation. He was out of it and he knew it, but he couldn't help it! She'd promised to call him as soon as she got to the hotel, this was DAYS later and she hadn't called. What else was a lovesick guy supposed to think? That she was perfectly fine and simply forgot to call and would see him when she got back?

Please.

Potter shook his head. "That's it, Pierce, I want you to go to the Swamp and stay there until the Major gets home. BJ, you're going with him, make sure he doesn't look outside."

"Aw, Colonel, I don't wanna babysit him," BJ joked. Grabbing his best friend's arm, he pulled Hawkeye along. "Come on, Hawk."

Hawkeye rolled his eyes and shrugged out of BJ's grip without a word. The two walked in silence to the Swamp, where they each poured a drink in silence. "Hawk, you wanna tell me what's going on?"

"Margaret's pregnant."

Turns out, the sound of a martini glass shattering against the ground is pretty loud.

BJ looked at Hawkeye with wide and unbelieving eyes. "Wha-What did you say?"

Hawkeye nodded, his eyes staring out into space. He dropped bomb #2, which was only one of the many other reasons he was worried about the Major. "Scully's the father."

Good thing BJ wasn't holding another martini glass, that could've been messy.

BJ sat on his cot with an equally vacant stare. "Margaret...wow. How's she–wait, how did you find out?"

Hawkeye took a lengthy sip of his martini. "She told me about a month ago. I found a pregnancy book under her bed, and she spilled. I've been trying to help her with everything since then, but I'm worried. Beej, what is she gonna do when she gets sent home?"

BJ didn't know the answer to that. "When is she gonna tell Potter?"

"She told me she would tell him in a few weeks, after she got everything situated, her father being one of them." The mention of her father brought to mind all the things that could have gone wrong with their talk...Hawkeye had a feeling 'Howitzer Houlihan' wasn't one to go easy on people, even his daughter.

BJ gave a mischievous grin. "So _that's_ why you two have been spending so much time together. Now it makes sense. What are you going to do when she leaves?" BJ was worried about Margaret, of course, but he had a sneaking suspicion Hawkeye didn't anticipate how hard it would be when she was gone. _They've spent the past few weeks tied to the hip…how's he gonna live without her?_

Hawkeye stood up and put his martini down with small thud. "I don't know. I'm gonna miss her like you wouldn't–well, like you miss Peg, but what worries me is the kid and her living alone. Margaret's strong, but she's human. How will she make it?" Worry. Worry choked through his sentence and almost overtook it.

Before BJ could offer any type of answer, a jeep pulled up in the compound. Hawkeye's head snapped around like a rubber band, and he wasn't disappointed this time.

Margaret Houlihan was back.

BJ had never seen Hawkeye get up so fast. He left his martini half-full, and the Swamp door closed slower than he ran.

"Margaret, you're back!" Hawkeye exclaimed through a grin. He skidded to a stop at her jeep, finding the love of his life with a huge smile on her face. His breath flew to lands unknown at the sight of her wearing her dress uniform.

"Pierce, it's great to see you!" She hopped out of the jeep and gave him a small hug. "How have things been here?"

"How have things been here?" He repeated. He grabbed her bags with an anxious grip and followed her into her tent. "Margaret, who cares what's been happening here? I've been worried about you like crazy, you're late, you didn't call, I'd be mad if you didn't look that fantastic in your dress uniform."

"Captain." Margaret was other places, for sure. She wasn't looking at him, instead at the mirror as soon as she walked in. She took of her dress uniform hat and began brushing her hair. "I've been fine, you're not in charge of me, I don't need to call you every minute of the day."

Um…what?"

Of course Hawkeye knew that she didn't need to call him. But she told him she would call...he was only worried about her...

 _Why does she have a diamond ring on her left hand's ring finger?_

"Ma-Margaret?" His heart was rising quickly into his throat. This wasn't happening...this wasn't happening...it was a nightmare.

A nightmare.

Yes, a very scary nightmare.

 _Please, let it be a nightmare._

"I know I'm going to come off as forward, but do you have an engagement ring on your finger?"

Margaret's smile widened as she began admiring her ring. "Yes, isn't it beautiful?"

WHAT?

 _Ok, calm down. Recap: Margaret's engaged._

 _Well, that didn't help much._

"Margaret, you left three days ago. I think you've broken _my_ record, and no one's done that." His jokes were a cover for his ghostly pale face and shaking shoulders. She wasn't looking at him anymore, her eyes were glued to her engagement ring.

Engagement ring.

Betrothed.

Intended.

Soon-to-be married.

He couldn't take it. "Major, what did you do with Margaret Houlihan?"

Appearing much more clueless than she really was, she turned to face him while fiddling with her ring. "What? Pierce, what are you talking about?"

"There. That. Before you left we were on great terms, we were best friends! What happened between, oh, wait, I know." He smirked, but panicked rambling took over. "You got engaged. Well, I'm sorry I'm not as happy as I look, it's a little hard to be happy for someone when they won't even be bothered to tell you a thing... a thing about them! Margaret, I've been worried sick about you, and now you come back engaged! What happened?!"

The volume of his speech, his pale face, his bloodshot eyes...it all finally hit her.

 _I'm hurting him._

 _I'm so, so sorry, Hawkeye._

"I'm sorry." Her voice had never been so sheepish and apologetic. Hawkeye felt as though he could forgive her for anything and everything if she used that sweet, innocent tone on him.

Hawkeye ran a hand through his hair before glancing down at the blonde who was finally paying him more attention than the ring on her finger. Despite no longer being angry with her, he _needed_ to know what happened in Tokyo. "Just...tell me how it happened. Please."

She sighed, turned around, and sat on her cot. "Sit, Hawk."

The use of his nickname had him at her side in a split-second.

"Hawkeye, I'm sorry. I'll tell you, on one condition." She waited for him to nod, then continued. "I need you to not leave at any point. I need you to stay with me through the whole story, no matter how mad you may be."

He nodded again. Reaching over to her hand, his palm met hers. She gripped his hand tighter than he'd ever expected, and only then did he realize; her shoulders remained frozen like ice, her eyes were bloodshot and laced with tears, and she was staring at their interlaced hands like they were her only connection to life. She was upset, and he hated that he hadn't realized it.

"Margaret? I'm not leaving, you can tell me."

She nodded, meeting his eyes. "Hawkeye, I saw my father. I told him. He was upset. He was angry. Then he left. I thought I would never see him again. Then he brought a man, a General, and basically told me that he was willing to marry me."

"And you said _yes?_ "

Margaret rolled her eyes and gave Hawkeye a light jab with her elbow. "Not at first. But then I started thinking about how having a husband really would make everything easier, I mean, how can I raise a child alone in the States? What am I supposed to do when I have to work, but I need to watch the baby?"

"What about your sister? The rest of your family?"

She shook her head. "My sister and her husband are travelers, they aren't in the same place for more than a month. If my father won't take me in, then neither will my mother, she does whatever he tells her. Everyone else in my family will turn me away." She swallowed back her fear and gripped his hand tighter. "It could just be easier to marry him…I just don't know."

Hawkeye could see the indecisiveness on her face, and he didn't like it.

But…

An idea.

Why not? He didn't have to tell her…he could offer…even if she said no. That's it. Even if she refused, he was going to offer. He loved her, so why not? Was is back-handed to offer something like this without telling her how he really felt? He didn't have time to think about that.

"I'll marry you."

" _What?"_

She was up like a shot, backing away from him and his sudden offer. "Pierce, what did you just say?"

He stood up after her and nodded. "Yeah, why not? Look, if you have someone else to marry you, that'll take care of your father, and you'll have a husband!" Was he crazy? Maybe just in love.

Margaret started to roll her eyes, but stopped herself. He was serious. He was really asking. He was willing to take care of her, the baby, _everything?_ Her heart started thumping in her throat. _Do I love him?_ If she loved him, the answer was yes. If she didn't, the answer was no. Probably.

"Pierce, the baby, me…" He must've seen the hesitance in her rejection, because he walked to her, stopped, and got down on one knee, taking her breath with him. She would be flat-out lying if she said she never imagined him doing this.

 _Imagined? More like dreamed._

He took her hand in his, and his cheeks flushed at the position they were in. "Margaret, I know this sounds…well, you know how it sounds, but I really care about you. I want to take care of you and the baby, if you'll let me."

He cut his speech short and got to the point:

"Margaret Houlihan, will you marry me?"


	6. Answers and an Unwelcome Visitor

"Yes."

"Yes?"

"I…yes."

Why was she smiling? Why was the smile so giddy and shaky? She was…happy? Well, it was an interesting concept, if not a little odd.

But, as he stood up and met her gaze, she _knew_ she was happy. Why else would her smile be growing? She ignored her shaking frame and the tears collecting in her eyes and asked, "Hawkeye, are you sure?"

Hawkeye nodded, a half-smile on his face as his hands found their way snug around her waist. Her breath left her in one short gasp. His lips were close enough that she could move forward just an inch and meet them. Under his breath, his eyes still on hers, he mumbled, "Thank you."

Sliding her hands up to the back of his head, she crashed his lips against hers.

The kiss immediately deepened, this time stealing breath from both of them.

Margaret fought to keep the smile away from her lips as her revelation came crashing down around her, like shells she couldn't whose meaning and intentions she couldn't quite decipher.

 _I love him._

She was in love with him. It was official; she was madly, passionately and deeply in love with Hawkeye. She wanted to kiss him, to hold him, to lay with him at night and wake up in his arms the next morning.

He was irritating. Annoying. Charming. Humorous. Handsome. Caring. Overbearing. Loveable. Passionate. Argumentative. Warm.

But he was offering to be kind. She was sure of it. He was offering because they were friends. He was offering because he cared about her. Was it right to accept, when she could be trapping him into a marriage that was a bit more real than he knew?

As his hands raised to her upper back, she closed her lips around his once more. She had to lean up against the walls as he kissed her, passion growing beyond what she knew.

 _I don't care. He's mine._

Her hands submersed themselves in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss.

"Attention, all personnel! Incoming wounded in the compound, they're coming in fast!"

 _I hate this war._

Like comfort ripped from early-morning awakenings, his lips were torn from hers, leaving them cold and alone. It took her a moment to open her eyes.

"Margaret," he began, with urgency in his voice at the wounded but the patience to speak with her. "I want you to know that I'm going to show you how Donald should've treated you."

Attempting to hide the sheepish but genuine smile, she gave him a small but defined kiss. "You already have."

#

Potter walked into his office, poured himself a drink, and collapsed into his chair. Sixteen hours of operating. Too much. All he wanted to do now was sit, relax, drink his Scotch, then go to bed for some solid, unbroken twelve hours of sleep. Was that too much to ask for? No, and he was going to get it if it was–

"Uh, sir?" Klinger pushed the door open and announced in a tired but understanding voice, "There's a General Hunter to see you."

Of _course_ there was.

Potter sat up, took his feet off the desk, and sucked in a deep breath. "Send him in."

Klinger nodded and opened the door wider, motioning the General to walk in.

Potter stood up, but even that wouldn't help him much. General Hunter stood at a whopping 6 foot 7 inches, a brick tower of a man with a build to match. He had auburn hair that flashed brighter than the sky in June, and so much brass on his uniform Potter was thinking about borrowing sunglasses. He looked to be in his early-thirties, unusual for a General.

"Well, what brings you to the 4077h?" Potter began cordially, extending his hand out to Hunter. He met the handshake with a firm grip and shining smile.

"Colonel, I'm here to see a lady of mine, fiancée, actually." Placing his hands on his hips he continued, "A Major Margaret Houlihan?"

Margaret?

Potter ran through the reels of his memory. No, no, he didn't remember anything about Margaret being engaged, and she would've told the camp something about it, right? Well, he supposed it was possible. After all, she met Donald over a trip in Tokyo. Not like that turned out great...

After a moment's recovery, Potter nodded. "Well, congratulations! Treat her right, she's family to all of us here, and we've got three doctors here who aren't afraid to defend her need be." He had to stop the smile from invading his threatening countenance. He knew Hawkeye, BJ and Charles really would defend the Major anytime, anywhere, and for any reason.

While Hunter looked taken aback from a moment, he gained the smile back within seconds. "I'll make sure they have no reason to come to her aid. May I go see her?"

"Sure, why not. She may have retired for seem well-deserved shut-eye, so you're welcome to stay in the VIP tent." What time was it, anyway? Being in surgery for hours could really play with your sense of time. A quick glance at the clock told the CO that is was nearing midnight. "Glad to have met you, let me know if there's anything I can do for you."

"Thanks, Colonel. By the way, you can call me Brandon."

Potter took a double-take. Hadn't he heard that name before? Sometime in OR? He remembered the name not being used in pleasant context, in the voice of someone muttering the name. He decided to keep his eyes on the boy. "Well, thanks for coming in, Brandon."

Brandon nodded and saluted Colonel Potter, who returned it.

He walked out and spotted Margaret immediately.

#

"Pierce, not again," Margaret complained to the chief surgeon sitting next to her. Both sat over a mug of not-so-steaming coffee in the Mess tent, nightfall hanging over them like a warm blanket.

Hawkeye struggled not to laugh, despite his exhaustion. "Come on, one last time."

 _"No."_

"Margaret, if you won't do it for your fiancé, who will you do it for?"

Sigh. He really wasn't going to give up, was he? She finally turned to face him, eliciting a glowing look on his face. "ONE, hear me, ONE last time."

Hawkeye raised his hands up in surrender and acceptence. "That's all I ask for. Ready?"

"Ready."

"She or he?"

"He."

"Alive or dead?"

"Alive."

"Is he an actor?"

"Yes."

"Cary Grant."

Margaret's jaw unhinged. How did he do that?" You're cheating. I don't know how, but you are." She crossed her arms over her chest in defiant confidence, despite Hawkeye laughing widely beside her.

"Margaret, I know you! You love Cary Grant, it was easy!" He was still laughing through his sentence, especially at the way her lips twitched as she tried not to grin.

"You're irritating, you know that?" She meant to sound mad and annoyed, but the moment she opened her mouth, a smile shone through. The things he could do to her.

The soft glances the two were giving each other were too soon interrupted by Brandon opening the doors and announcing, "Now, there's a sight, my dear fiancée." He looked Margaret up and down approvingly. Oh, he was so unaware of how close Hawkeye was to shattering his mug with his bare hand.

Margaret didn't exactly know how to respond. Obviously, Brandon was a nice guy and meant well, but her interest in him was below the temperature in Antarctica. "Brandon," she greeted in a slow, uneasy tone.

Brandon, blissfully unaware of Hawkeye's connection to the Major, walked over to his 'fiancée'. "Hey, sweetheart." Before Hawkeye could do anything, like, oh, I don't know, _punch_ him, Brandon pressed his lips to Margaret's in what was probably too deep for any public eye.

"Ok, time to break it up." Hawkeye tore Brandon of Margaret with a hard hand. "Listen, kid, you can't just walk in here and–"

Hawkeye would've gotten farther if it weren't for Brandon's fist colliding with his jaw.


	7. Three Strikes and a Kiss

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long, writer's slump ain't a pretty thing. However, I got this and most of the next one done! Thanks for all the reviews!**

"You have got to be the stupidest man alive, Pierce," Margaret commented. She stood in the washroom, and Hawkeye sat on a stool as she cleaned his wounds.

Hawkeye rolled his eyes. "I try to defend you and this is what I get? Next time I'll just let random men kiss you."

Margaret got out the alcohol. She was pretty proud of Hawkeye, despite not throwing the first punch. Brandon was being treated in a different part of camp. While she knew there would be a price to pay later, she couldn't help but feel good how he had defended her. "Someone jealous?"

He winced as she cleaned the wound above his right eye. "Just practicing, I'm going to be your husband. That is unless you've found Brandon to be a more suitable candidate. Ow, Margaret, that hurts!"

"Sorry."

She pondered his words. Was he really jealous? It was a nice thought. She doubted it, however. He was just being kind, same as always.

She was about to explain why she would pick him over Brandon every time, but he beat her to it. "How's my favorite Major or Majorette doing?" Following his words, he moved his hand to rub her stomach in slow circles, drawing her closer to him by mere touch alone.

"Fine. A little back pain and some appetite trouble, but not much else." Margaret's vision of her and Hawkeye's relationship at the moment was…foggy. Were they dating? They were engaged. Were they in love? She was. Was he the most wonderful, kind, passionate, amazing man she had ever met? Yes.

"Good," he replied. "By chance, did I hit Brandon in the head so he won't remember any of this and _not_ court martial me?"

Margaret smirked. "Not a chance, you hit him in his broad, wide, strong should–"

"Ok, I've heard enough."

Hawkeye stood up, intent on asking Margaret whether or not she would be interested in the movie in the Mess Tent, but she had other, more restraining plans for him. "Pierce, I'd appreciate it if you would act civil towards Brandon." Avoiding his gaze was very important, it would drive him mad _and_ make sure he understood how much this meant to her. "I don't need you getting court martialed for some stupid reason."

Under the light of the wash-room bulb, that was an easy promise to make, but Hawkeye didn't want to think about his chances of keeping it the next day under the Korean sun. "Ok, ok, I'll act civil."

A sweet smile sprung to life on Margaret's face at his agreement. "Wonderful. I'll see you tomorrow."

Hawkeye caught her hand before she made an escape, pulling her into his arms. "See ya." Planting a lingering kiss on her forehead, he made certain he was the first one to leave the room.

Margaret smiled after he had gone, murmuring, "He's good, I'll give him that."

#

"Margaret, I need help over here!"

"One minute, Pierce!"

Margaret ran over to Hawkeye, who was bending over a badly bruised kid. That was the least of his worries; his leg was ripped and torn, bleeding onto the Korean dirt like an open bottle. Hawkeye could see the bone of the boy's leg. How could the war do this?

Margaret skidded to a stop and bent down next to Hawkeye. "He needs to go in now," she commented, knowing well that Hawkeye already had come to the same conclusion. "Kellye! Start some plasma and tell BJ we need him."

Hawkeye found a moment to crack a smile for his favorite officer. "Margaret, cheating on me already? And with BJ?"

Rolling her eyes, she hit his arm lightly. "You're too much."

"I know."

Within fifteen minutes, nearly the entire camp was packed inside OR. "Clamp," Hawkeye mumbled underneath focus beyond an archer, a sailor in a storm, and a pro-golfer all in one.

BJ looked up from his patient. "He gonna make it, Hawk?"

Hawkeye made a few more moves inside the boy's leg. Private John Wallok. Twenty-two. Wife and daughter, twenty-two and three. "Yup, he's gonna make it."

Margaret smiled up at him from under her mask. "Good work, Doctor."

He could detect the humor in her voice at his title. "You too, Major Baby."

A once-horrendous insult, now an endearing nickname that earned a proud blush on her cheeks. Goodness, what was this man doing to her?

As he stood, watching over the doctors, Brandon was not too happy about the whole thing. Sure, Hawkeye was a decent enough doctor, but did he have to take his girl, too?

Margaret had broken the news to Brandon the night before. It went something like this:

 _"Brandon, we need to talk. I'm sorry, but I can't marry you. Hawkeye and I are getting married. I appreciate what you tried to do, but you can tell my father I don't need his_ offers _. Oh, sorry, I have to go, I hear Hawkeye outside."_

Well, at least that's how it had seemed to Brandon. Being a 2-Star General in the US Army came with a certain amount of pride, and he wasn't about to lose it to a Captain who waltzed in and off-handedly asked his girl to marry him. Nope, too easy.

Brandon looked at the surgery Hawkeye had moved onto and tried to seem like he had some amount of medical knowledge.

BJ passed by Hawkeye and also paid a look. "Good work, Hawk. You deserve a gold star."

Hawkeye was human, and sort of enjoyed the pats ono the back he had received thus far. "Thanks, Beej. If only Frank were here, we could teach him a little something. Like surgery."

This earned a good laugh from the crowd, minus the one General.

It seemed to Brandon that Hawkeye was the popular kid in school, but he was also _nice_. That was an issue. How can someone be popular _and_ nice?

"Captain, do you have to shout for glee every time you do something correctly?"

Margaret didn't like the sound of that. She loved everything about Hawkeye, of course, but he had a temper. A large one, when provoked. The way she saw it, this was strike one. The first landmine. The first shell to hit the base. If Brandon was trying to get under Hawkeye's skin like she suspected, he was pretty darn close.

After getting a change of gloves, she quickly went to Hawkeye's side, muttering under her breath, "You promised..."

He shot her a look. "You're holding me to that?" The look in her eyes was answer enough. "Ok, ok."

OR was silent for the next few minutes.

"So, Colonel," Brandon announced with a boom. "What's it like in this unit on a usual day?"

Potter shrugged. "Not much unlike today. We may be dysfunctional, but we're a family."

Father Mulcahy rolled his eyes, but no one missed the smile. "Dysfunctional, indeed."

A wave of laughter passed through the room.

Well, that wasn't what Brandon was going for.

Ok, a new approach.

Waling over to Margaret, he gave her a soft smile. "Major, may I say," He said the next part under his breath, but just loud enough for an eavesdropping Hawkeye to pick up. "You radiate, even in surgical garb."

Strike two, Margaret counted.

She shot Hawkeye a glance as if to say, _Hawkeye, if you do something that we'll both regret, you'll be calling Frank to come save you._

Hawkeye swallowed down his animosity, but it remained bubbling in him like fire. How dare he say that to Margaret? Who did he think he was?

 _Don't blow up. Do it for Margaret. Remember? The woman of your dreams? Which, by the way, is a tough standard to reach already!_

Hawkeye tried to obey the voice inside his head, but it was like holding one's breath under water; he didn't know when he would have to open his mouth. "Colonel, how many more?"

"Klinger?" Potter redirected the question to his company clerk.

Klinger shrugged. "A few more, we're doing pretty well today."

Today would've been a great day if it weren't for General Snob, Hawkeye thought.

Margaret sighed under her mask. The sooner OR was done, the sooner she could get the explosion that was her fiancé out of here.

Brandon knew his words were having the desired effect. He also noticed that getting to Margaret got to Hawkeye _much_ more than a direct insult to him. Noted and remembered.

Brandon didn't want to seem obvious, so he let the next hour of OR go by in easy-going air. People joked, people worked hard, while he waited for an opportunity.

And it came. Subtly, but it came.

Hawkeye was finishing the last patient, and Margaret had been assisting him. There it was. The target.

"Ok, if everyone will excuse me," Hawkeye began as the last patient was rolled out of post-op. "I have a hot date with either Margaret or the stil, I'll let her decide."

Brandon cut off the beginning of Margaret's reply. "Captain," he channeled every superior officer he'd ever had since West Point through his voice. "I'd be glad if you wouldn't manufacture your operations to include Major Houlihan, you can keep your _flings_ outside the operating room."

 _Strike three._

"General," Margaret jumped in before Hawkeye could start. "Captain Pierce does no such thing, and how dare you assume I would–"

Margaret turned to her fiancé, afraid for Brandon's sake at the glint in his eyes.

Brandon smirked under his mask. The desired effect, indeed. "What's wrong, Captain? Did I touch something precious?" he sneered.

A maniacal, rage-filled laugh filled the room, coming from Hawkeye. He stared at Brandon like he started the war himself. He pointed to the door. "That's it, Hunter, outside."

Margaret grabbed Hawkeye's arm. "Pierce, don't."

Potter wasn't going to have this, whatever it was. "Ok, no more of this. General Hunter, I'd be much obliged if you'd keep those comments to yourself. Pierce, shut up." He knew he could take a bit more of a…personal approach with his chief surgeon.

He didn't hit home.

Hawkeye untangled himself from Margaret's arm, using the last bit of gentle touch he had. "Brandon, if you ever, and I mean _ever_ talk about her like that again–"

BJ knew all too well where this was going. "Hawk, he isn't worth it."

Even Brandon was getting a nervous at the look in Hawkeye's eye.

Hawkeye tore of his mask and grabbed Brandon by the collar. "You can't talk to her that way," he seethed. No one, not BJ, not Potter, not Margaret had ever heard him talk like that. It wasn't even like Hawkeye anymore.

This had gone too far, Potter decided. "Klinger, get an MP in here!" He silently motioned to BJ and Charles to grab a hold of their friend.

"I'll have you court martialed for touching a superior officer!" Brandon hollered through a thick voice. It did nothing to frighten Hawkeye.

"Superior officer my foot." Hawkeye threw a punch to Brandon's jaw, sending him sprawling against the OR floor.

Hawkeye turned to find Margaret and explain, but all he found was the swinging OR door and her mask on the floor.

 _She's going to kill me._

#

Hawkeye found Margaret in her tent not a minute later. "Margaret, we need to –"

"No, we don't!" She exploded, turning to face him with a Houlihan tone that he didn't care for. Margaret was rivaling his earlier anger with the look in her eyes. "Pierce, you promised me you would act civil, and you punch the man!?"

"Margaret, he called you a fling, I wasn't going to let him do that to you!" He took a step closer to her, but it only made her madder.

Margaret shook her head. "No. No, that's not why. It's because of your big pride, that inconsiderate ego of yours. You just have to have the last say, the last word, you can't walk away from a fight." She was touching on a nerve and she knew it, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to be angry, she wanted him to understand that.

Hawkeye rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. Sure, sometimes he wanted to get the last say in a fight, but _this_ was one fight he didn't want to have! "I'm sorry, alright?"

"No, you're not sorry."

"What?"

Margaret set her heel into the ground. "You're just apologizing so we can go back to this morning, with Superman Pierce saving poor, helpless, pregnant Margaret. Well, no more! I want you _out!_ "

She marched to the door and opened it. "Leave, now."

Hawkeye didn't know how to react. "Margaret, is this what you want?"

"Yes."

"What are you saying?"

Margaret didn't know the answer to that. "I'm saying...I'm saying I want you to leave until I'm not furious at you."

Eyes locked on his love, he nodded. "Alright. But just remember..." he walked over to where she stood in the doorframe, bending down to her level. His breath on her cheek sent her heart into her throat. "...I care about you, and I _won't_ let you marry that jerk."

"Pier-"

His lips pressed against hers, her whole mind went blank.

The kiss was brief, and she knew he was doing it on purpose. She was tempted to slip her hands to the back of his neck, pull him closer and deeper until he could never, ever leave her. The way his lips melded into hers, she wanted him to stay.

Unfortunately for Hawkeye, the Houlihan pride was just as strong as his. The moment he gave her one last kiss, she pushed the door open wide. "Out."

He nodded, and with one more glance, left for the Swamp.


	8. Making Up

**A/N: Hey! I have NO IDEA what went wrong with the earlier post...SO sorry about that! And thanks a BUNCH to CanonAntithesis for pointing it out. THANKS!**

Now, if you ever find yourself in the middle of the 4077th, you know that the O-Club is a must-see. The Vegas of the compound, where love is born and drinks are poured. Where people dance and fight, the home away from home of the camp.

Tonight was no exception. Packed like a child's school book-bag, it was a miracle of physics there was still ample dancing room. Conveniently, it had a perfect empty space in the middle for a certain Major and whichever officer got to her first.

Hawkeye was going to make sure it was him.

Unfortunately, Brandon did not have post-op duty that evening.

"So, Major," he flirted with a smile most women would find charming. He leaned over her at the bar, trying to entice her by mere language and posture. "Got space in those lovely arms for a General?"

No, you have to understand, Margaret was bitter. She was glum, mad at Hawkeye, and felt everyone around her was just plain inadequate. "No."

Brandon knew this wouldn't be easy. The problem with insulting Margaret to annoy Hawkeye was, well, he had insulted Margaret. "I'm sorry. Being a General comes with stress, and I lost my head."

"As if you ever had one!"

Brandon smirked, and because of that shot or two Margaret had earlier, she couldn't help but smile along with him.

He tried again, pouring on whatever sugar he had. "What'd'ya say. One dance?"

Margaret pitied Brandon, in a way. He meant well, he was just interested in the wrong woman at the wrong time. What was the harm? "Fine," she decided. "One dance."

"That's all I ask."

His hand was strong, Margaret noticed. It enveloped hers like a prince's glove, and she felt like royalty just by touching him. Her heart belonged to Hawkeye, even if he didn't know it, so why was she feeling like her Army boots were glass slippers on a diamond floor?

Floating into his embrace, there were no stares for her to ignore. Her dancing with a General was not out of the ordinary.

Brandon had Margaret right where he wanted her. If she was going to have a brief lapse in judgement and pick a Captain over him, that was fine. He could fish her back within the day.

"Margaret?" He whispered in her ear. She fought back the attraction, thinking instead about Hawk–

Hawkeye.

Could she not be faithful to him before it had even started? Was this the foundation she chose to lay down for their relationship, before it had even started? What a terrible thing to do. She was cheating on him before they were even together. She should've said no right away–now she had to deal with seeing Hawkeye, the feelings and doubts in the pit of her stomach, and the heart-wrenching guilt that she had from hurting the most wonderful man in the world, even if he didn't know it yet.

Mad at him as she was, she still loved him.

She pulled herself out of Brandon's arms. "I-I have to go."

She left him no room to hold her back or ask questions, knocking into several people on her way out of the Officer's Club.

The compound was barren and alone. A few MP's and the stray camp-dweller, but not much else. The camp could've been Times Square and she wouldn't have noticed.

She walked into post-op, only to be told by Kellye that he had gone to the Swamp. "Honestly, you'd think he could stay in one place," Margaret muttered.

Her heart refused to leave her throat as she knocked on the Swap door. "Pierce?"

"Margaret?"

Walking in, she found him standing at the still. She couldn't explain it, but seeing him standing there in front of her sent whatever air she had left running for cover. He was her dream. Her love, her life, her hopes and wishes.

"Margaret, look, we need to–"

He would've gotten farther, but it was nearly impossible to do such a thing with her lips pressed against his like that.

He wasn't going to pull away. Shells, artillery, and MacArthur himself wouldn't be able to do that.

Not thinking twice, his hands found their way along her back as she got on her toes to reach him. He pulled her closer and closer, only stopping for the minimum breath physics and anatomy allowed.

She had him. After waiting and waiting, he was hers. She would soon have a ring to prove it, and no one, not any nurse in all of the US Army, could take that away from her. She fell deeper into his arms, leaning on him for total support.

Did he understand? Did he know what this meant? Could he tell, could he read what she was trying to tell him from lip to lip, that she loved him? The doubt in her mind compelled her to kiss him even deeper, pulling him so that he curved around her.

The spell was briefly broken when he pulled away. His breath was still labored as his broken voice tried to put words together. "Margaret, I–"

He was interrupted by her artful yet angelic smile. She traced a finger down the side of his face, nearing his lips again. He knew, alright. He knew.

Giving him a full, lingering kiss, her arms found a comfortable spot around his neck. "Me too," she admitted.

There it was.

Without word or language, without rhyme or reason, it was done. They passed the finish line, they graduated, they signed the papers. No more nervous glances across a room, no more questioning if the other shared their feelings.

"This is it, we've got to just get them in the same room and, I don't know, shoot them with truth serum," BJ half-joked. He and Charles walked to the Swamp, intent on 'helping' Margaret and Hawkeye into the final step. You know, the step they skipped before getting engaged.

Charles nodded. "I think sedation could also come in handy, if necessary."

"Agreed."

The wide-open door revealed their two best friends, kissing like it was the New Year in the Paris.

Charles tried to form something resembling words through his gaping jaw. "Is that…"

BJ nodded. "…about time."


	9. Point of View

**A/N: Sorry about the slow update, while writing this chapter I realized it was terribly dull, and scrapped it. Then, I realized how wonderful of a distraction Sherlock Holmes is. Forgive me, (dang, now I'm talking like Holmes.) this chapter is also kinda sad…I didn't even like writing the end XD. Thanks!**

"You're _what?_ "

Margaret's eyes glistened with worry, uncertainty, and boiling frustration as she spared a glance Hawkeye's way. He was sitting adjacent from her in Potter's office, the very room they had chosen to break the news in. Straightening her spine, Margaret cooled her composure. "Yes, I've been pregnant for about three months."

 _She...wait, back up._

Potter took a moment of recollection, but it was hardly needed as a smile poured onto his face. Hearing this was like hearing his own daughter was pregnant. "Well, that's great, congratulations!"

Margaret's sigh passed through a smile of immense relief. One less issue to worry about. "Thank you, sir." She stood up and gave her commanding officer a hug, pretty happy until the reminder that he didn't know about the father popped in her head. "Oh, I forgot to mention..." Sitting back down, she avoided her fiancé's eyes for reasons her heart cared not to dwell on. "...the father is Scully."

Potter swore under his breath. Of all the people, did the war have to be cruel to her, the woman he'd come to think of as a daughter? "I'm sorry, Margaret."

"Thank you. There's more, however."

Potter kept a sigh to himself. More? What could be more? She was pregnant and the father was already gone? What else could there be?

Judging by the smile on her face and the boyish grin on Hawkeye's, he had nothing to worry about.

"Hawkeye and I are getting married!"

 _Ok, now I've heard it all._

Hawkeye chuckled at the vacant but elated stare on his CO's face. "Colonel, you look blanker than the Peace Talk negotiations."

Snapping out of his trance with a huge smile, Potter offered a firm handshake to Hawkeye. "Congratulations, you two. I had a sneaking suspicion when I first got here that you two could be good for each other."

Margaret laughed, again hugging Colonel Potter. "Us? Colonel, we were at each other's throats!"

Hawkeye wrapped an arm around his fiancée's waist, avoiding her and Potter's gaze. He didn't exactly want to think about how badly he and Margaret used to fight, or the days when she was blowing into Frank's ear.

Shudder.

"Yeah, but there was something about you two, you worked well together." Colonel Potter subtly wiped a tear from his eye on his sleeve, there was no need for them to see that. "I'm happy for the both of you, I really am."

Margaret's laugh was choked with inner tears that were not yet ready to surface. She hated feeling this way, she would rather feel angry than sad, it was so much easier to deal with, and people got out of her way as opposed to asking how she felt. "I don't suppose you're happy enough to let me stay another month?"

Breath stopped in Hawkeye's throat, and with a twisting in his stomach, he found his gaze forced and locked on an oblivious Major. For the duration of the war she had been there – whether they were fighting, laughing, kissing, or just talking, she was with him. Now that he loved her, she had to leave?

Colonel Potter hated doing this. "I'm sorry, but I have to send you home. Even if I could keep you here, both of you will be safer in the States." He motioned to the Major's slight baby-bump, hidden well but noticeable by anyone who looked for it. "The paperwork will take about a week, then you'll have to go."

He turned away, looking at some miscellaneous books and papers on his desk as opposed to letting the pair he thought of as his children see him choked up. He had his pride, no matter how close he was to his comrades.

"Thank you, sir." Margaret said as Potter turned back. Three pairs of red eyes were all locked on each other's, but they had to remind themselves that they weren't even saying goodbye yet. The tears could, and would have to, wait.

Potter broke the melancholy tone and smiled. "Go have fun, kids, goodbyes aren't for a while now. Congratulations."

"Thanks, Colonel." Hawkeye grinned. He turned to Margaret, a suggestive grin playing at his face. "Shall we take our commanding officer's advice and have some fun?"

Margaret turned and started walking out with an artificial officious air, Hawkeye following her like a puppy. "You are impossible."

As Potter watched the couple leave, he made a mental note to ask Mildred for baby gifts ideas.

#

#

"That's right, I want them for three days from now," Brandon ordered. He stole a glance while the idiotic clerk on the other end of the line fumbled through his words. "Yes, three days. For the States, yeah. No, don't send anything out, just hold a seat. Got it? Good." He hung up the phone without so much as a word of parting. Personnel below the rank of Captain didn't need goodbyes, in his humble and pompous opinion.

A Brandy, he mused, was just the thing he needed for the night. Whether or not the meager O-Club would have it was another question, and if they didn't, a Scotch would suffice.

Thoughts of booze and alcohol were instructed at a flicker of imagery across the compound, blurred by built-up fog in the window pane.

Wiping the layer of mist away, the General was able to catch a fleeting glimpse of Hawkeye leading Margaret to the door. Her blonde hair disregarded respect for the olive drab surrounding her, stealing the spotlight like the moon amidst stars.

He was torn between envy and hatred as Hawkeye exchanged words with the Major through a smirk, a look in his eyes that Brandon didn't care to think much about. _He_ had never looked at anyone like that, and he regretfully supposed that was part of the reason Margaret was in the Captain's arms, not his.

His eyes burned with burgundy under the hazel irises as Hawkeye bent down, planting a soft kiss on Margaret's forehead. How dare it be so easy, how dare it seem so effortless for him!

Margaret slipped her hands into his, a smile he could only dream of playing across her face. He knew all what she was saying, though he could not hear. The Captain's smile was clue enough.

She must've known he was out there, wanting to drive him mad, as she got up on her toes to give her fiancé a lingering kiss men dreamed of upon reaching mature ages.

Like a parent watching their child go into school for the first time, he could only stare as Margaret opened the door, led Hawkeye in, and let the door shut softly behind them.

Scotch, Brandy, anything would suffice.

#

"When should we have the wedding?"

"When do you want it?"

"Fine, I'll simplify it. Should we get married here or in the States?"

"Up to you."

"Should I kill you now or after dinner?"

"Whenever you want."

Margaret did not find Hawkeye's grin particularly funny. "Pierce, what's wrong with you? You aren't helping at all!"

Hawkeye sat up on his cot, doomed to see the Houlihan glare across from him. No women in the world got mad at him like she did, but at the same time, he could never love any woman again. The curse. "I just don't want to think about it right now."

Crossing her arms over her chest, she smirked in a way that sparked Hawkeye's nerves to call a code red. "That's what people say when they don't want to get married."

The words had a profound effect on both of them, in different ways. "How can you say that?" Hawkeye's defenses were making themselves known, and he didn't like where they were headed.

The train that was Margaret's anger and frustration was already tearing through, and Hawkeye wasn't able to stop it. "Quite easily! You haven't said a word about this wedding, and you won't even tell me _why!_ Getting cold feet, Pierce? Now that you have me you're realizing that marriage isn't necessary?"

Hawkeye stood up, meeting her gaze for an instant before rising high above it. "Margaret, whether you believe it or not, I want to marry you."

"Liar."

Normally, Hawkeye would've just stormed out to get a drink and cool off, but something was tied to his ankle and holding him here. Was it her? Was he afraid of losing her if he left? Or was he just too stubborn to let her win the fight?

The moment of silence gave Margaret time to think, her anger shrinking into desperation. "Do you even want to marry me anymore?"

"Of course!"

"When?"

"Soon."

Margaret groaned. Why did she have to fall for such a frustrating, egotistical man? "You know what, Mr. Lack of Commitment?" She turned to him with anger that was strong as metal, but at the same time could be broken with a gentle tap. "You have once chance. Tell me why you're putting this off, or I take the ring off."

The temperature in the Swamp dropped several degrees.

"Margaret, you don't mean that, right?" Of course she didn't mean it. She wouldn't do something so drastic in the name of finding out why he was putting off the wedding, right?

But if she _was_ serious, he knew about much pride his fiancée had. She was stubborn, and if she did take that ring off, it wouldn't go back on so easily.

She moved her fingers to the ring, a rose-gold band with a small diamond, on her left hand. "Try me."

He couldn't tell her.

She would hate him.

She would never forgive him.

"I can't tell you," he muttered in a voice below the Earth.

He could tell the exact moment her heart broke just by the look in her eyes.

"Fine." She spoke in short breaths so he wouldn't hear her sobs, so he wouldn't know how her heart was done for, shot dead. "If that's what you want."

"Margaret–"

She tore the ring off her finger, walked the few steps to him, pressed it into his palm and mumbled out, "Goodbye, Hawkeye."

"Margaret, wait, come on!" He ignored the stinging in his eyes as he barely caught her hand. Her eyes were we, tear-filled and aching. He knew his were the same. "You're not really doing this, right?"

Her voice, no longer able to support the load it was given, broke. "I-I can't wait for you to make up your mind. You won't...you won't make the decision, so I will." Had his eyes always been such a brilliant shade of sapphire? Had his hand always been so warm, so strong, as it enveloped hers? "I'm...goodbye."

Moving onto her toes, she reached up and pressed her lips to his. It was brief, just long and deep enough to drive both of them mad.

She set back on her heels and walked out without another word.

He looked down at the ring in his hands. "Margaret..."

He had lost the love of his life...

It was over.

How was he supposed to get her back now?

 _You're not._


	10. Broken and Bleeding

**A/N: Hey! So, just wanted to let anyone who cares know, after this story is over (whenever that's going to be) I'm uploading a new HM story, A Murder in Tokyo (I know, I know. This is what happens when I read Sherlock Holmes).**

"Beej, that's all there was. We fought, she threatened to take the ring off, I wouldn't tell her what bothered me, and she broke it off."

The tone, the lack of emotion and embellishment on his friend's voice was what worried BJ, not the speech itself, which was concerning enough.

Something was not right here. For weeks, all Hawkeye had done was talk, think, breathe for Margaret. He got out of post-op and went to her tent. He woke up in the morning from dreams of her. He spoke of her in poetic words in his sleep.

The inflection of his voice, the way he gripped his Scotch, the angry glint his eyes, any man who had a death wish should have walked up to Hawkeye that night.

"Are you telling me that you're _fine_ with it?" BJ forced the word so hard his teeth hurt. He was angry; of course he was. While he had to be waist-deep in the trenches of the war, pleading with every prayer he had in him to go home to his loving wife's arms, this fool was pretending he didn't care about his own fiancée!

Hawkeye turned, drops of sweat across his forehead, from what, BJ did not know. "I don't care." The words were followed by a harsh, burning swish of Scotch down his throat.

"Alright, come on." Grabbing his friend by the upper arms, he started to drag him from the bar. "You've had enough Novocain for one night."

Hawkeye would have slugged the man taking him away from his precious numbing material if it had been anyone else. "It's her fault, y'know." He struggled to keep his balance, the floor was bouncing up and down in a soft, curving wave.

Curving.

The word made him think of Margaret. The night before last she had been telling him how, with the baby bump, she no longer had a small, petite waist. He had told her that was ridiculous. To prove it, he had slipped his arm around her waist, gracing her neck with light kisses. "Alright," she had laughed. "I believe you. Now shut up and kiss me."

"It's my fault," Hawkeye murmured. "It's my own fault!"

They had hardly reached the Swamp when Hawkeye thrashed from BJ's grip. "It's my fault! I lost her, don't you get it?!"

"Why?"

Staring at his friend, Hawkeye bit back his bitterness for the moment. "What?"

"Why wouldn't you set a date?"

A few seconds passed, the two surgeons waiting for one to crack. Hawkeye couldn't tell BJ, could he? No. He would tell Margaret, that was the type of guy he was. He would tell Margaret everything, and that would only ruin what little chance he had left. "I didn't think I could stay, y'know, I didn't think I could commit."

"Liar."

BJ's boot cracked the small rocks on the dusty, concrete-hard Korean dirt as he took a step towards a shaking, quivering Hawkeye. "What was it?"

"You'd tell her."

"I won't."

Giving his best friend a classic, 'I don't believe that lie for one second' smirks, Hawkeye stepped back. "Oh, really? So, if I tell you exactly what's bothering me, you're telling me you won't run right to her so we can work this whole thing out?"

BJ shook his head. "Nope."

"Liar."

BJ, the challenger of Hawkeye's mountain of fear, lies and falsehoods, walked again towards him. "Hawk, are you going to let her be this stubborn? She's not hurting you, she's hurting herself and the kid. The kid needs a father, and you were going to be that–"

"Don't talk about the kid!"

 _The kid._

"It's the kid?" BJ stared straight into his friend's eyes, trying to pry the information out of him by harsh, murderous glares alone. "Are you backing out because she has a kid?"

Finally looking like his sober self, Hawkeye shook his head with a tilt. "I'm not that shallow, Beej."

"Then what is it?"

"I can't."

Again, with the avoidance, BJ had to shovel past the insecurities his friend had buried himself under. "What can't you do?"

Margaret walked right o BJ, ignoring the chief surgeon whose eyes were practically bulging at the sight of her. "BJ, your shift in post-op."

BJ nodded. "Great, and while I'm in there, I want you two to talk."

"No."

"No."

BJ shot hard glances between the two of them. If they weren't ready to talk together yet, he would have to work on them separately. "Fine. But you're only hurting yourselves, and the kid." He walked off, leaving the pair angry, alone, and separate.

"Goodnight," Margaret said, already marching to her tent when BJ had gone. The anger was ripe, and forgiveness was out of the question until he got down on his knees and begged forgiveness with a full apology. Knowing Hawkeye, she could be waiting until her child was in college.

"Margaret, wait." As per her expectation, he followed her steps and grabbed the tip of her fingers. She didn't pull back.

He had her attention, for the time being. What was he supposed to say? How could he make her take him back without tell her why he...couldn't?

"Yes?" She prodded him to go on, alerting him that her patience was withering.

She was right there. The only women he had ever really felt the love in fairy tales for. Carlye was the Fool's Gold of his life, everyone after had been cheap rock, and Margaret was his diamond. "Margaret, I still love you."

Her head shot up. While, in the back of her head, she knew that he still loved her, hearing it come from his lips was like hearing it for the first time. "Pierce, don't."

Their eyes locked, and in one swift move, they crash their lips against each other's.

She didn't pull away.

In the moment, she could only think of their farewell. She could not say goodbye to him, to the relationship, to his lips, without the most passionate kiss she could give him. If she was to lose him, she would give him a spectacular goodbye.

She kissed him harder, barely able to get close enough to him to quell the longing in her heart for him. His arms around her waist, soon pressing against her back, she wanted _him_. No other man had her heart.

And she could never take it back from him.

He pulled back, his breath heavy in his throat. "Margaret, I love you." Following his words, he kissed her lips several times, repeatedly and passionately.

"I love you too," she admitted under her breath, kissing him back.

Only in the instant the words left her lips did she realize what they were doing.

She was falling for him – again. If he could only just tell her why, they could work through it, and she could forgive him! If he wasn't so stubborn, so hard-headed, so...him! She loved him, that was the problem. She loved everything about him, even the things that drove her crazy.

"Hawkeye," she broke the kiss, no matter how loud her mind was screeching at her to kiss him again and never let him leave. "I can't do this. Just...tell me why. Why can't we get married?"

"You'll hate me," he replied in a soft, weary tone. His eyes searched her desperate, longing countenance for some sign of surrender. "I won't let that happen."

"I won't hate you. Did you..." she gulped, tears rising in her throat. "...cheat on me?"

"No."

By tone and voice alone, she knew he was telling the truth. If he had stayed loyal, what could he have done? "Then what is it?"

"I can't tell you."

Those words – those words! They were keeping him from her, whatever lie, wrongdoing, thought, whatever it was, it was keeping him away from her! It was building a wall, brick by brick, between them, and she was helpless!

She tore herself from his arms, not having to put an ounce of effort into the natural glare on her face. "Goodnight, Captain."

She walked to her tent in three short steps, slamming the door in his face.

Hawkeye stared at the door. "I won't let you hate me."

#

Choppers. The constant, steady water-whirl of blades slicing through the air like knives racketed through Margaret's ears. "The war," she muttered.

Margaret had a new love-hate relationship with the war that she didn't care much for. The war brought her here, which was bad. The war hurt so many people, which was really bad. Then the war gave her Hawkeye, which was really good. The war made her pregnant, which turned out to be really good. The war took away Scully, bad, but lead to something good. But, Hawkeye, who she met through the war, was breaking her heart, which was bad. It was the war's fault.

She got dressed in her usual quick, efficient manner, but her thoughts raced in a different dimension. The sobbing she had done the night before left tear stains in the morning, only reminding her of Hawkeye.

Hawkeye.

The name, she could hardly think of it without her heart having momentary attacks.

"ATTENTION, ALL PERSONNEL! WOUNDED IN THE COMPOUND, GRAB A PARTNER!"

Honestly, did the day have it out for her?

She ran out and went to the first patient she saw. "Kellye, plasma and get Charles."

"Margaret!"

She heard her name yelled across the compound, and, in the chaos, she did not discern whose voice was hollering. She ran to it, not giving the voice a second though.

"He's in bad shape, we needed to operate five minutes ago."

Margaret looked up, and Hawkeye's sapphire eyes, clear as a lake and sapphire as one, shot straight through her glance and into her heart. "You're right. Go prep, I'll meet you in a minute." It was not the time for their petty arguments, no matter the questions she had for him jumping around in her mind.

Nodding without a word, he ran off to pre-op.

Margaret looked down at the mangled boy, too awake for his own good. "Don't worry, you've got the best doctor."

He let out a whimper, his consciousness slipping in and out of his body. He gripped Margaret's hand and covered hers with blood, but she gripped back just as hard. "You'll be fine," she promised. The boy looked seventeen, he shouldn't have even been out of high school yet. "Corpsmen, bring this boy into OR!"

She gave the boy's hand one last squeeze, shuddering at his pulse; it was the weakest she had ever heard. She raced to pre-op, but Potter stopped her. "Hawk told me the situation, wash and get in there. No time for getting on scrubs."

She did as she was told, meeting Hawkeye in the room with the patient. He didn't have scrubs on either, just a hastily tied mask. Kellye put on her mask for her as she muttered to Hawkeye, "How's he doing?"

He shook his head, eyes bloodshot and jittery. "Not good. Suction."

She jumped in, grabbing an instrument and preforming an action before he even asked. Doctors and patients rolled in and out for hours as they operated in silence, albeit the occasional request for an instrument.

"Clamp, hold that bleeder."

"I've got it."

"Pressure?"

Kellye looked up to Hawkeye. "80 over 60, We're losing him."

Hawkeye swore under his breath. "Margaret, I'm going to try something. When I say, I want you to let go of that bleeder and hold that one instead, but keep your eye on that one." The idea was risky, she knew that, but with his pressure dropping by the second, they didn't have a choice.

"Alright."

He made a few quick motions. "Now!"

She let go, clamped the next, kept her eye on one, while his hands buzzed in every which way like a cartoon.

All of OR was silent as they worked.

"Pressure?"

Kellye paused.

They could see the smile beneath her mask. "100 over 60, pulse is rising."

Hawkeye let go of the breath that had been caught in his chest. "He'll make it."

"He will."

Margaret looked up, meeting his eyes. "Good work, Doctor. That was amazing." She had to give credit where credit was due, no matter their issues outside the operating room.

Hawkeye nodded. "You too. I think you would've made a pretty good doctor."

The compliment when straight to her heart, mind, and ego, all working together to battle her willpower to let her smile.

"Thank you, D-Doctor." She stuttered, the choice of titles weighing on her like bricks.

He smiled, but it held things she didn't like; he wanted her forgiveness. She couldn't forgive him, and that's what he wanted. He wanted her to forget about it and just go along with him and his secret, but she couldn't. She needed him, whatever that included, even if he wouldn't give it to her. And, until he did, she couldn't have him.

Ignoring Hawkeye's smile, she looked over her shoulder to Potter. "Are there anymore?"

Potter tore off his mask. "Nope, you two are free to go." He started walked towards the door, but Margaret stopped him.

"Sir?" She was practicing the fine art of avoiding Hawkeye's eyes at all costs, her back to him like a brick wall. "I was wondering if I could get a pass to Tokyo before I have to leave. Alone." Tempting as it was, she continued to shun Hawkeye, knowing how mad she was driving him.

If Margaret thought that her commanding officer was pretty blind to the situation, she was dead wrong. "Lover's spat?" He switched his glance between bewildered Margaret in front of him and emotionless Pierce a few paces behind. "Alright, might give you a chance to cool off."

"Thank you, sir." She followed him out, without a word, look, or farewell to Hawkeye. The door glided shut behind them, and Hawkeye was left, rejected at the sidelines.

Never before had it dawned on him how lost he was without her. Her indifference – that was what hurt. Let her be mad, angry, and upset with him, but he couldn't stand her not caring about him. If she no longer cared, if she was really over him within the day, then there was nothing more to do.


	11. No Goodbyes

This was wrong.

Wasn't it?

Margaret didn't have time to contemplate the consequences of her upcoming actions as she packed, anger in every grip. It was all flooding back to her; every time Hawkeye had annoyed her, belittled her, or just didn't respect her in the past. She knew, way in the back of her mind, that it was different now, but hormones and raw anger are a nasty combination.

She looked at her gold-rose watch that dangled on her wrist. It was nearly eleven, Hawkeye was in post-op. No, she was _not_ going to say goodbye to him. That's what a silent treatment is, and he needed a full does of it.

"Daddy's being a jerk," she muttered to her unborn infant. She buttoned up her dress uniform, but her hands slowed as if it was the will of the air around her. Her thoughts, consumed by Hawkeye, turned glum.

She missed him.

The thought was small, a rose hidden by a jungle of rough terrain and monstrous trees. However, it was there, and it was true. She missed him, and with every passing hour, she missed him more.

A knock sounded at her door, and she correctly identified the rough, unorderly knock as Corporal Klinger. "Come in," she replied.

Klinger opened the door, in uniform, thank goodness. "Major, your jeep is here. Should I get Captain Pierce to say goodbye to you?"

She shook her head. She could practically feel her unborn baby looking down on her for being so petty and stubborn. "No, thank you, Corporal. We...said our goodbyes earlier."

Not being the dunce she took him for, Klinger knew that was a lie. "Major, can I say something?" He moved to take one of her bags, and she nodded.

"Maybe you should talk to him. The silent treatment only prolongs the fighting, so why drag it out?" The chances of Margaret taking his advice were slim to none, but if Klinger had learned anything, it was that slim chances were pretty good.

Unfortunately, his usual slim chances weren't enough. "Thank you for the advice, Klinger, but I am not speaking to that low-life."

Klinger shrugged his shoulders and took his defeat in good taste. He slung her bag into the trunk, smiling kindly. "Alright, it's your choice. And hey, congratulations on the baby."

It felt good to smile, Margaret realized. "Thank you." She got into the jeep, glad to notice that her driver seemed relatively quiet. She wasn't into the mood to talk to strangers.

"No problem, Major. Have a good time."

She waved him off as the engine sputtered, cackled, coughed, and finally got out of bed and cracked to life. They took off, sending Korean dirt and dust soaring behind them.

Klinger watched as she left, sighing.

Hawkeye walked up behind him. "She said no, huh?"

"She didn't even want to speak to you, Captain. Sorry, I tried."

Hawkeye had guessed as much. He wouldn't change a thing about her, not one trait of tendency, but sometimes, very occasionally, she could drive him up a wall. How was he supposed to win her back when she kept avoiding him?

 _You're supposed to tell her why you don't want to get married._

Oh, yeah. He forgot about that.

The mood of their little space of Korea shifted, falling down a cavern of melancholy, murky water. "What if she doesn't say goodbye?"

The remark, while tied down to pounds of emotion, confused the Corporal next to him. "Huh? She already left?"

Shaking his head, Hawkeye started walking towards the Swamp, not to mention its gin. "No, I mean when she leaves for the States. She'll say goodbye to me, right? She wouldn't leave me like that." He was longing for some amount of assurance, no matter how small.

As he walked into the Swamp, Klinger nodded. "Don't worry, Captain. Even she wouldn't leave you like that."

Hawkeye took one last glance out towards the Korean dirt. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine her driving _back_ down that road, a smile on her face as she walked over to him.

Shaking the ides of miracles off, Hawkeye motioned the stil. "I hope so."

#

Many terrible, headache-inducing, cramped hours later, Margaret's feet were in Tokyo.

She looked around at the airport. She hadn't walked inside such a massive, giant of a building in months, since her last Tokyo visit. The walls stretched like a rubber band, suspended into the ceiling. She ran her fingers lazily over the brick of the wall, running through and over the cracks and occasional chips.

She walked towards the exit, where she would get a taxi and forget about Hawkeye for the next two days.

"Ma'am?" An MP, a rough, burly man of nearly gigantic stature waved a brick hand in front of her. "Aer, you Major Houlihan?"

Her mind and gut told her not to panic, but something about the man was putting her on edge. "Yes, what's the problem?"

With a click of his mouth, he motioned to another MP, possibly even more massive than the first, to join him. "Major, we have orders that you are, and have been for some time, pregnant. You're going to have to go to the States on the first plane."

Any breath in Margaret's body flew away.

Her vision skipping beats, she tried to find some traction in the smooth ground. "I…Is that necessary? I told my commanding officer, he said the orders weren't do for about a week. Why would I have to go home now?"

The second MP whispered to the first. "Hormones. Why would anyone want to stay in Korea during the war?" The first nodded, and let his companion continue. "Look, Major, you're going on the next plane, handcuffs or not."

Her temper flared at the mention of restraints, and she backed away from the men. "I will not be restrained like some dog!"

"We agree, Major." The first MP said, a sick smirk streaming onto his face. "Everything will be fine, as long as you get onto the next plane for the States, leaves in a couple hours."

Thankfully, her well-groomed common sense saved her from further trouble. "Can I at least make a phone call?"

He shrugged. "Sure, you can do whatever you want, as long as we keep an eye on you until you get onto that plane."

As soon as they sat down, Margaret's throbbing heart took her to the nearest payphone. Her jittery hands dropped the dime three times, but as soon as it was in, she practically bit the operator's head off. "Get me through to M*A*S*H 4077th, yes, it's an emergency, would I be yelling at you like this if it wasn't?" Her tone had the desired effect, and she was talking to Klinger within the next five minutes.

"Major?" She could hear the bags under his eyes as he answered the phone. "Do you have any idea what time it is? I realize that people in Tokyo get more sleep, but for us in Army Cot Central over here–"

"Shut up and get Pierce on the phone!"

That certainly woke him up.

Klinger's spine straightened, he hadn't heard that inflection, that whip-crack in her voice in quite a while. "Uh, yes, Major, one second."

Margaret tried, unsuccessfully, to clutch a few deep breathes as the empty static buzzed like a bee in her ear.

Would he even come to the phone? Most likely. She knew he wanted a reconciliation. Passing over her words and actions to him in the past days, she realized that she had been somewhat harsh, no matter what he had done.

She sighed, leaning her jackhammer of a head against the phone. When she had first found out about her pregnancy, he was there. He had comforted her, held her hand, told her she would be fine, and did whatever she asked, or commanded, him to do. She didn't want to think about how her reaction to his wedding-reluctance may have been over-the-top.

"Margaret? Gee, I thought we hated each other again."

Her glum, regretful mourning snapped into panic. "Pierce, get to Tokyo now. Right now."

The stammering, she had to admit, was a guilty pleasure, even in the crisis of the moment. "Ma-Margaret, I know you've missed me, but right now?" He was being oh-so 'himself', and yesterday, that would've annoyed her, but now, it only stabbed her heart.

"Yes, right now," she persisted. Her eyes darted to the clock above her. "You have to come _now._ Somehow, they found out I was pregnant, and I'm being sent home today."

"I'll be there, I'll go AWOL for all I care."

She smiled. That angry, determined glint in his voice did wonders for her mood. "There's the man I've been missing. Hawkeye, I have to go, but we'll talk when you get here."

"Alright. I'll get there as soon as I can. When does your flight leave?"

"In three hours."

The cruel reality was that he had very little time; even if he left that instant, catching her would be like finding a rose in a three-mile stretch of thorns. "I'll be there," he promised. "I love you."

Goodness, she had missed those words. "I love you, too. Get here, soon, alright?"

"I will. I love you."

"I love you more."

The operator cut them off, and all her empty, swarming anger punched her in the stomach all over again.

She looked up to the clock once more. "Hawkeye, hurry."


	12. Late or Never?

The clock was a cruel mistress. Its hands toyed and fingered Margaret's emotions, heart, hopes, and dreams without any care to stop. Every time she checked the doors for her fiancé's streaking black hair, his sapphire eyes, or his raggedly adorable appearance, he wasn't there, and her heart cracked at the seams. Each time it was like living as a child, waking on Christmas morning to find an empty tree.

Helplessly, she collapsed at the cold, bitter seat that nipped at her skin. Moving her hands to rest on her midsection, she thought of her child. _Their_ child.

A daydream, she mused, would heal her. She could slip away from reality and all its cruel hits to a world that she designed, created, and controlled.

Shutting her eyes, Margaret allowed fantasy to bend the arm of reality into submission.

 _"Hawkeye!" Margaret shouted, her words echoing throughout the house and bouncing off the walls towards where, hopefully, he resided. Her husband could be late anytime he pleased if he arrived on-par with her desire today. "Are you coming?"_

 _He didn't respond, and just as she sucked in a breath to holler again, he stole it away. "Happy anniversary, Major." The once forced, cruel, unhappy title was now an endearing, loving name._

 _Her knight stood in the kitchen doorframe. There wasn't a thing about him that she would change. In fact, she could only ever wish that he would stay this way forever. If he changed, if time marched forward, his feelings could change. However, if he stayed like this, if time froze, he would always love her. Yes, that was her greatest wish, to kick time into unconsciousness so it would do her bidding and leave her husband just as he was._

 _A tightly-knit bouquet of roses appeared in her line of vision. "I missed you at work," he murmured as she stepped towards him, admiring the blooms. "How's the baby doing?"_

 _"Fine. She missed you." Tilting her head up to meet his eyes, she admitted, as if she were embarrassed, "So did I."_

 _That boyish grin of his found its way onto his face. "Cute."_

 _His arms snaked around her waist, tight and protective, as she stumbled to place the flowers on the kitchen table. His gaze never left her, never moved, and never broke contact. The intimacy, even after enjoying marriage for a year, still gave her a lump of passionate emotion in her throat. How, she had no idea. Perhaps it was him. Yes, he and only he could bring out stop and start her heart at a moment's notice. "Hawk," she murmured, his lips taunting hers._

 _He smiled at the way he drove her mad. "Yeah?"_

 _Giving up on his game, Margaret rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up." She threw her arms around his neck and crashed her lips into his without a pause. Any brief flash of breath she had held onto was gone._

 _His hands pressed against her back in a tight hold. His lips left hers for her neck, and she nearly collapsed at his touch, the one she craved day and night. "Hawk, I love you." Her hands brushed over his shirt towards the buttons, and he kissed her again. He tasted of gin. She thought, for a moment, that she could get quite drunk kissing him as much as she was._

 _He pressed her up against the wall, and the kiss grew hard and passionate as she grabbed at his shirt. In a snap, the buttons gave up, and she pressed a warm kiss to his jaw._

 _He pulled away for a moment. "Upstairs?" She smiled at how much of his breath she had stolen._

 _Her own lungs gasping, she nodded. "Upstairs."_

"Ma'am?" An MP walked to her, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he eyed a clip board, one that Margaret assumed held her fate. "You're Major Houlihan, right?" He didn't wait for her to respond. "You've gotta get on the plane in fifteen minutes."

"What?" The shock sounded hollow in her own ears. She should not have been surprised, with how the rest of her life had been knocking her in the head the past few months. "I thought the next plane didn't leave–"

"I know, I know," he waved her off with a carless voice, muffled by the cigar that hung limply from his lips. "Change in schedule, ma'am. Ya got fifteen minutes."

He wasn't going to make it. As she bid a hasty, crude farewell to the MP, her jostled mind rustled through memory lane in search for her last words to her fiancé. What had she last said to him? What had her last words been? She remembered yelling. A lot. Yelling at him, and hollering awful things to his face.

Wind crashed through the door and nipped at her fingers. She hardly dialed the call. "M*A*S*H 4077th please, yes, again." Every second had to be a minute, and that was just time that Hawkeye _wasn't_ there.

With a click and a sputter, Klinger's frazzled, if not panicked, voice rang through the phone. "Major? What are you calling for, isn't Captain Pierce there by now?"

"No, of course he's not!" Her Houlihan tone could have physically slapped anyone within her line of vision. "When did he leave?"

Margaret didn't want to acknowledge the pause in Klinger's hesitant voice. "Uh, he left a few hours ago, I would have thought he'd be there by now. Maybe he's–"

The line died in her hands.

"Klinger?" Her voice went unheard, and she slammed the phone back into the receiver. It figured. It figured that, when she and Hawkeye had lived through the whole war a compound-crossing apart, now, with the world crumbling beneath their feet, she should fall for him now. It only made the type of twisted sense that she received in her life anymore.

"Come on!" The MP hollered harshly from outside. He opened the door wide for her, and she knew, if she stepped out, she might never see Hawkeye. If she stepped out that door, she would get on the plane, and Hawkeye would have missed her. If something happened to him, that was it. It would be over, and, again, the last thing she would have done with him was fight. Could she not say goodbye to men without it ending in disaster?

She clutched her bag and stared out the door. She turned, and another exit, where Hawkeye should have run through, into her arms, stood proudly before her.

He had to come. He wouldn't leave her hanging. The war couldn't take everything from her. He was going to walk through that door, with that annoyingly perfect smile on his face, shout something to her, and she would collapse into his arms, like she always did.

"I don't got all day!"

 _A minute. Please, one more minute._

The wooden panel remind firmly shut.

She could no longer take the blows, the hits, the beatings to her spirit, and she turned, walked out the door, and headed for the plane.


	13. Tearing Apart

**A/N: This story's almost over! Why? Well, if you haven't read OkobojiOddOne's AMAZING story, Missing Out, you should XD. It's basically the definitive Hawkeye-gets-Margaret-pregnant story, and I could never do mine better than hers, so there will be some time skipping in mine. I'm working on what HM story I'll do next…THANKS FOR READING!**

* * *

Cold.

Miserable, terrible, desolate, wretched. Bitter wind crashed at Margaret from all directions as she waited for the plane. Hail pelted her, burning like needles against her skin. It was the type of cold one vacationing from Arizona feels in Wisconsin in the dead of January. It's more than cold, it's more than fear, it's torture. Wondering what frostbite feels like. Waiting for sun that will never come. Imagining a world without winter.

Margaret felt none of it.

"Ok, you can get on, Ma'am." The MP motioned to the plane, outweighed by the large airport building and runway.

Nodding, she walked towards the plane, her spirits lower than the temperature and her heart as frozen as the pavement.

"MARGARET!"

The voice, the inflection, not even her name or the sheer volume, but the voice, got Margaret to turn around. She tried, she forced herself to believe it wasn't him. If she believed it was him, if she allowed herself to have hope one last time, it would only crush her. That voice betrayed her, it lifted her hopes up as she dragged them back down, yet she turned around, because of the voice.

Hawkeye.

She sprinted on her fragile heels, letting her bags plunge to the ground as he hopped over the gate to meet her.

She collapsed into his arms.

"I'm sorry," He murmured into her neck, covering her with soft kisses. "I love you, I love you." His breath was hot against her skin, and his arms tightened around her waist, pressing her against him. If she closed her eyes, she could nearly imagine that they were in the states, perhaps by a fire, sitting on the couch, where she lay as he kissed her.

She held him tighter with every kiss, the soft sensation of his lips against her skin melting the meager amount of anger she still had with him. "I love you too, Hawk, I love you." He made it. Everything against them, everything holding them back, somehow, someway, though she was a little afraid to know how, he had made it to her.

The wind barreled across the pavement, colliding violently against them as they gripped each other for dear life. "I don't want to leave you," she murmured, pulling his lips to hers. The kiss was passionate, deep from the beginning as they clung to each other. He tasted of gin and determination as her lips bombarded his harder.

His hands went from her waist to her back to her hair as she gasped through the kiss for breath. "I love you." He could only murmur into her mouth, afraid that if he let her out of his arms, even for a moment, the war would snatch her away.

"Hey!" The piolet shouted from the window as the plane's engine roared like a tornado behind the pair. "We gotta go!"

Margaret pulled her lips from Hawkeye's, tears already soaking her uniform. "I'm sorry, I never should've…I don't know what I was thinking…"

He silenced her with another kiss, and she couldn't help but return it.

They were quite a sight, an MP noticed from where he was trying to get the pilot to buy them a few more minutes. The man was in his Army drab olive, shaggy and weary from whatever he had done to get to her. The woman was pristine, clean, graced in a neatly-pressed dark lavender dress uniform. Despite the difference, they could not have look more perfect standing together as he quietly comforted her. "Come on," the MP argued. "Give them a few minutes, what's gonna happen?"

The Piolet looked from him to the pair, and back again. With a sigh of defeat and relent, he nodded. "Fine. Three minutes, then you get her on the plane."

"It's gonna be ok, alright?" Hawkeye promised in hushed tones, wiping her tears away. "The war can't last forever."

"I don't want to leave you!" She had to battle against the roar of the engine to speak.

Hawkeye smiled softly. "I know. I don't want you to leave, but I have something that might make you feel better."

Margaret was comforted by even this small, miniscule promise he was making her. Whatever he was about to offer, she was going to take it.

The look on his face, the boyish, mischievous grin gave her shivers. "Margaret, I love you. And I know that we've had a lot of rough spots, but I can't live without you." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a black, velvet ring box, opening it to reveal a rose-gold ring with a simple diamond. "Margaret, will you marry me, one month and three days after I get back from the Korea?" A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, but he tried to hold it, watching as Margare'ts eyes glistened against the moonlight.

Her Prince Charming, the dream that she had dreamt since she was seven was finally here, in the form of Hawkeye Pierce, an undisciplined, unorderly, joking, womanizing, drinking Captain.

She wouldn't have it any other way.

"Yes, yes, Hawkeye, of course!" She grabbed the ring and slipped it on her finger, where it belonged. "I love you."

"Margaret, I didn't want to set a date because of the baby." He had to admit it right then and there. If he didn't, he would put it off. And if he put it off, he might never tell her, and he wouldn't do that to her again, no matter how his heart punched his mind for confessing such a terrible, shameful thing. "The baby isn't mine. I…I don't know how to be a father to a kid, much less one that isn't mine." The build-up of unrelenting anxiety choked through his voice.

Leaning forward, she forgave him with a full, soft kiss.

"Hawkeye, I wouldn't want any other father for _our_ baby."

Something inside hi, whatever bug that had eaten away at his frayed nerves, finally sat in the corner, where it belonged. He sighed a, "Thank you," under his breath, more relief and emotion clouding his voice than Margaret ever wanted to hear again. He lifted his gaze to her and gently kissed her. "I love you."

Whatever they had gone through, no matter how painful, as she rested in his embrace, it was worth it. Margaret linked her arms around his neck and kissed him harder. It was miniscule in comparison to how much time she wanted to make up to him, but in the moment, all she needed was him. "I love you too."

"COME ON!"

The tender moment shattered against the runway, and the calm wave over her eyes rushed into a bloodshot panic. "I can't leave you." Margaret's mind, ripped in two different directions, shouted at her heart to just run off with Hawkeye, to run off with her hero to a faraway land.

Hawkeye saw the indecision in her face. She wanted to stay, and he knew that if they really tried, if they ran fast enough, hid well enough, they could go back to the 4077th, even go AWOL. But…he couldn't do that to her. He loved her too much to do that. "You have to."

Before she could protest, he had his lips softly, gently, pressed against hers. "I love you, ok?"

"I love you too."

She kissed him, hard and full, one last time before drawing back. She couldn't meet his eyes as she tore form his hands towards the plane. The pavement nipped at her through her boots, and her stomach ached with terror, anxiety, guilt, every horror-stricken emotion bit her for leaving her love.

Turning around, she stood on the frost-bitten steps of the plane and looked out to Hawkeye, standing patiently.

He was heartbroken. How could she leave him like this? How could she leave, knowing that he was going back to the war, alone and afraid, while she sat in the States by the fire, safe from harm?

Her feet inched towards him, but he knew what she was thinking, and like a knight, wouldn't let her go back to the danger. "I love you, Margaret." His words were a barrier, yelled out to her as a way of protecting her form coming any closer to him and the war. He was entangled with the war, if she had him, she had to have the war.

He was waiting for a response, she knew. If she replied, she left. If she said nothing, well, she didn't know, because she _had_ to go. That was the cruelty in disguise; she felt as though she had some choice in the matter when she had none.

"I love you!"

She would not cry.

With on last, longing look at his sapphire eyes, she broke away and stepped into the plane.

From there, fate could not be held back, the plane took off in a matter of moments, and Margaret could only watch as the image of her fiancé grew smaller and smaller, then vanished.

Would she ever see him again?


	14. A Time Apart

**A/N: ALMOST OVER! This is going to contain** ** _quite_** **the time-skip, then just another chapter or two. I'm really not that happy with how this came to, honestly, but I hope someone enjoyed it. My next HM fanfic will hopefully be better, please forgive me for this crazy thing XD. THANKS!**

* * *

The war hurt, even from a distance.

Margaret knew that.

From here, from the States, she knew how terrible the war was. She read statistics, she read figures, she listened to the radio, she read the newspaper, she knew what was happening beyond the 4077th in Korea, and that gave a vile rise in her throat. Every time she heard of something happening in Korea, she thought of Hawkeye, whose chances of being 'ok' seemed slimmer and slimmer by the minute.

When she was there, at M*A*S*H, sitting with her friends in the O-Club, she was closer to the danger than she knew. The North Koreans could practically invade at any moment, shells and gunfire could pour on them, and they would be unprepared.

But they hardly cared. They drank, laughed, loved, ignoring the horror and fear. She supposed that was how they got by.

Now, with someone she loved, with several people she loved, in that same terror, she could see how close to death and destruction they really were. It was like being right in front of a volcano. Too close and you don't know how much danger you're in, while people farther back yell at you to run because they can see the tip of the volcano, the edge of destruction.

She missed him.

The sad, shameful thing was, she missed him more than she worried about him. She missed his smile, his voice, his eyes, the way he held her, his touch, his jokes, everything that she loved and everything that bugged her about him. She wanted it all.

A cry, a wailing, sounded from upstairs.

"Mommy's coming."

She put down her novel, the one she had sat down to read over three hours ago, and only got through four pages, and pushed herself off the couch.

She walked into the nursery, and there, lay her little Benjamin, a little over a year old. His blonde hair framed his face, she had already gotten him two haircuts, his hair grew faster than she knew a baby's hair could grow.

"Shush, Ben, Mommy's here." Her voice, soft and quiet, surprised the tougher side of her. She scooped up her tiny baby in her arms, supported his head like Daniel had reminded her so often in the beginning, and his crying ceased like the end of a piece of piano music. Not abrupt, but not so slow it faded, but calmly and sweetly.

Ben cooed up at her, waving his chubby arms up towards her face and smiling. She smiled as he grabbed at her hair. "Your daddy misses you." She tried to talk to her son about Hawkeye every day, even if he had no idea who she spoke of, she needed to know she was doing _something_ right. "Daddy said he can't wait to meet you."

"Mama." The word, no longer new, still fluttered her heart.

"That's right. Can you say 'dada?'" Hope lingered on her lips. If Ben could say dad, that meant she instilled the name enough that he knew to say it.

"Da…aah…" It appeared like her child made a real effort to say the word his mother requested, his lips even pouted after failing.

Smiling, Margaret rocked her child back and forth in a slow melody. "Don't worry about it."

Just as she sat down in the rocking chair (a gift from Mrs. Parker, a sweet librarian who had babysat Hawkeye years prior, and took an immediate liking to Margaret), the doorbell chimed and smashed the peace of her evening. "Guess Mommy has to get up now, huh?" Ben mirrored her disgusted expression as she lay him back down on the sky-striped sheets.

She walked out the nursery and down the hall, various tasks and to-dos bombarding her mind. She had to do the dishes, reply to Hawkeye's letter, finish that novel, what was that last thing? Something to do with work…no, it was about the garden.

By the time she opened the door, the thought dissolved, and she couldn't have cared less as the Western Union boy stared her down like death.

"Wh-what is it?" Her throat shut. She grabbed the doorway to force her lungs open. Her mind fled to every terrible outcome one could conceive. _He's dead. He was killed at an aid station. BJ couldn't tell me over the phone. He's gone. Dead._

Ignoring her question, the young man asked, "Are you Margaret Houlihan?"

Her breath hitched and labored as her vision went in and out, unsure of how it wanted to stand. "Yes, just tell me."

"Here ya go." He handed her the telegram.

 _Margaret,_

 _I'm sorry to tell you this. We didn't want you to find out from the Army. Hawkeye is in a mental hospital with Sidney Freedman. We don't know what's wrong yet. Call when you get this. We all love you._

 _Colonel Sherman T. Potter_

No. No, no, no! She didn't want to believe it. She wanted to lie to herself. She wanted it to be a cruel, sick, terrible joke. What happened? Did he just snap, or was this building while she had known him? Had she said something in her last letter? Was it something she did, said, or told him? She needed to see him. She needed to fix him. If she was in Korea, if she was there with him, she could fix him.

No, she couldn't. She was here, he was there, and she just had to hope that Sidney Freedman knew how to help the love of her life, because she couldn't anymore.

The moment the door shut, she broke down on the floor and sobbed like her little, innocent Ben.

#

Hawkeye stared up at the house. The shutters, exactly as Margaret described, reflected calm cerulean and specks of mud, assumingly from Ben playing.

Playing catch. Taking him to school. Teaching him to ride a bike. Giving him advice. He would do it all.

However, doubts plagued his mind constantly, sometimes so terribly all he wanted to do was run and never look back. Never face the kid, never become a father, and never have to look at the responsibility he couldn't handle.

Sidney had told him it would help. Sidney told him that it was a sensitivity thing, and once he held Ben, a good deal of his fears would seem like specks of dirt falling into the Grand Canyon.

Hawkeye sucked in a breath, his hand cradled the cool, metallic doorknob of his home, and paused. He looked out behind him. The temptation lingered before him; of driving off, not facing the responsibility, not facing his fears, and starting a new life. He could be comfortable, and he would never worry about raising a child who wasn't his own. No one would know him, no reputation followed him, nothing.

Then, he thought of Margaret.

The door slipped open, and, for the first time in years, he breathed in the scent of home.

"Daniel? I thought you weren't coming until–"

The clanking of a metal pan against the floor nearly made Hawkeye flinch.

Her hair dangled and curled around her shoulders, and though she wore plain, comfortable clothes, they hugged her figure and gave her a feminine glow she hardly needed. Tears melded and fought with mascara as she stared at him, unmoving and silent. Her breath hitched in her throat and she leaned her hand on the wall. "Ha-Hawk?"

He shut the door behind him, unaware of how star-struck he really was until his feet stumbled beneath him. For once, though he could hardly recall the last time, he didn't know what to say. He believed he could speak, if he could only think of the words, the best thing to say to the woman he had not seen in well over a year.

"You're…you're home?" She shook her head as the words left her lips. "The war is over…but you're…it's really over, right? You…"

He walked over to her as she stuttered and attempted to crudely mend her battered optimism, a small smile on his lips and tears in his eyes. "Missed me?"

Margaret lunged forward, grabbed him by the shirt and pulled her husband's lips against hers.

She nearly gasped through the kiss, but he held her fast against him, his hands traveling up to her hair. The alarming fact was that she felt the same; her hair, her lips, her tight grip against him, it all remained the same as when he had left, and he only kissed her again, as if thanking her for not changing.

Just before things hit a point neither could return from, Margaret pulled away, tears mixing with makeup and streaming down her face. "I love you."

He kissed her again, softly and gently. "I love you too."

"Hawk," She quietly laughed into his lips. "You have someone else who would like to meet you."

She could feel the tense defenses rise in him as his arms tightened around her waist. "Margaret, I don't know if I'm ready." Would he _ever_ be ready? What if the baby looked like Scully? He couldn't handle that. He wouldn't be the father the kid deserved, or the husband Margaret always wanted. The husband she needed.

Her hands slipped into his, warm and familiar, in contrast to everything new and strange that had happened in the last few days. "Don't worry, you'll be fine, I promise."

No matter his objections, she dragged him up the stairs, a sick thunder in his stomach with each step. That child was Margaret's, and no matter what he did, Ben would always hold a tighter bond to Margaret than him.

Silence echoed through the hallways as she opened the door, careful not to make a sound in case her baby was asleep, only to find the almost-toddler awake, smiling, and sitting up in bed. Her two favorite people in the world were in the same room, with her, happy and healthy, and in that moment, she could want for nothing else in life. Nothing else would give her the satisfaction.

"Daddy, I think Ben has been waiting to meet you." Carefully, she lifted her son out of the crib, and turned to Hawkeye, eyes teary and star struck. She nearly asked him if he was alright, for he looked as though he had never seen such a small human before, and wondered what he was supposed to do with him. "Hawkeye," she whispered, snapping his attention back to her. He showed some dulled, muted response, and she took it and ran. "It's ok, we both love you."

Nodding, Hawkeye extended his arms, and Margaret handed Ben into his embrace.

Shamefully, she realized she held her breath as the room waited for the boy's response.

"Daa…da…" Ben smiled up at Hawkeye, waved his arms around, and repeated, "Dada!"

The last ounce of stubborn pride melted away, and Hawkeye let himself cry before the baby and his fiancée. "Has he ever done that before?"

Margaret shook her head. Tears streamed down her face, she raised a hand to her lips, covering the damp smile. "No, never, it's the first time."

Reaching over, she gave her husband a quick kiss on the cheek. "I love you."

He met her kiss, wrapped an arm around her waist, and mumbled into her hair, "I love you too."


	15. Epilogue: Calm Chaos

**A/N: Last chapter! My thanks are all at the bottom :)**

* * *

Even the sun didn't want to get up Sunday morning. It fought, it tugged, it refused, however, the moon wasn't about to go overtime, and it left, prompting the sun to gather its wits and take up the most hated position in the world, next to an alarm clock.

It was time to wake up.

However, Hawkeye and Margaret, sound asleep in Crabapple Cove, weren't so happy about that idea.

The sun nudged the alarm clock, which rang out like a blaring car alarm, inciting the same level of annoyance. "Hawk, shut it off, or else–"

"I can take a hint," Hawkeye finished, slamming down on the alarm clock. "Morning, by the way."

"It's too early for mornings, wake me in two hours."

Hawkeye laughed, eyeing his wife across from him, in childish, naïve hopes that they could go back to sleep, even for fifteen minutes, with their children in the house. "What should I tell Ben and Emily when they wake up?" Teasing laced the edge of his voice, yet Margaret thought for a moment, as if she could really make a difference.

"Tell them Mommy needs more sleep, or else she'll never be able to bake again." After a brief pause, judging whether she would even fall asleep if she tried, she flipped over and shot a look at her husband, a look he had known since the war. "Which means you can't wake me up, either."

Her husband's arms wandered around her waist, and she sighed, either from relenting to staying awake for the next twelve hours, or at his touch. "You know, the kids might not be up for a little while…" he followed the words with a gentle, taunting kiss on her lips. "Even for hours…"

Despite the urge to shoot some witty, well-meaning insult at his face growing, she merely deepened the kiss as his hands wandered to her back, pressed her close against him. "Hawk…" she murmured, that oh-so familiar spell casting over her again. His lips traveled down to her neck, and her hands went to his shirt…

"MOMMY! DADDY!" Following these words, banging worthy of a kitchen disaster came from their bedroom door.

"That would be the children," Margaret laughed, seeing the submissive, defeated face of her husband.

"Yes, it would." He raised an eyebrow, gently playing with his wife's hair. "Should we let them in?"

"MOMMY! DADDY!"

Sighing, Margaret sat up against the pillows and nodded, resolved that, for the rest of the day, the children dictated her life. "We might as well, unless you want to fix a door today."

"Alright, come on in."

The door crashed open like a canon blasted through it.

"MOMMY!" A petit, wide-eyed, ebony-haired girl, hardly seven years-old, waved her hands and screamed as she jumped onto her parents' bed, where her mother welcomed her with open arms. "Can we go downstairs? Pretty please? I don't wanna go to sleep, I wanna go downstairs and stuff!"

Hawkeye hid his gaze from his smirking wife, and she only muttered, "Gee, I wonder where she gets a certain talkative tendency from?"

Laughing, Hawkeye gently kissed his wife on the cheek. "Hey, you thought I said some pretty nice things back in Korea, huh?"

" _Some_ nice things, don't get ahead of yourself."

"Are you four ever getting out of bed?" Daniel, well-meaning yet too energetic too early in the morning, popped into the doorway and gave a good morning wave.

"GRANDPA!" Again, shouts filled the room to the brim, and Margaret gently slapped her husband's shoulder as he pretended to hide under the blankets.

Ben and Emily hollered and cried with joy as they leaped off the bed, crashed down to the floor, and chased the one ready-and-willing adult down the hallway. "I'll see you two down in fifteen minutes, the kids would never let you sleep in on a Saturday, obviously." With these parting words, Daniel tipped his head and followed his energetic grandchildren to the kitchen.

Unfortunately for Hawkeye, Margaret's maternal instincts kicked in, and she began getting up from the warm, welcoming blankets. "Where are you going?" He reached for her hand and caught it, nearly giving her enough reason to stay in bed.

Margaret shot a look at her husband, a look he had seen one too many times in Korea. "Sorry, we have children, and those children need breakfast. Do you really want your father to make it?"

A slick, boyish grin Margaret had also seen one too many times in Korea slipped onto her husband's face, and he reached up to her, gently brushing his lips to hers. "Breakfast can wait."

"Pierce," Margaret broke in, the use of his last name cutting through her voice. Hawkeye raised an eyebrow, knowing very well that 'Pierce' was either a term of endearment, or he was in a lot of trouble. His wife continued, "We have two children and your father downstairs, who are both hungry, and none of them can cook without setting something on fire. Am I all you can think about right now?"

"Yes."

Laughing, laughing like she only could with him, Margaret reach up and kissed him, warm and full on the lips. "Well, in that case…"

 **A/N: PHEW, it's done! I'm not too happy with how this came out, but I'm not done with my OTP or the M*A*S*H fandom, I'll be back, with oneshots and probably a longer one someday. Thank you SO SO much to everyone who has read and reviewed this story, especially bobcatwriter and oldmoviewatcher! THANKS FOR READING!**


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